


love the way he sings, never really seen him dance

by spocklee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: and dean 'do i look out to you' also winchester, i don't deserve a lot but i did deserve to see castiel in a gay bar, supernatural songfic in the year 2021... this drained the life out of me but i had to do it., with sam 'i'm an ally' winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spocklee/pseuds/spocklee
Summary: Cas realizes he's gay and has some time to explore it. Title is from 'Human' by Molly Sarlé.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 68
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based on the supernatural that lives in MY head because the last time i watched this show was in high school and they kicked the devil in a pit (which did rule). everything else is stuff i've vaguely absorbed from everyone else posting about it. in true supernatural writing fashion, whoever i want to still be alive is alive and everyone has whatever characterization i want, and i'm ignoring all the horrific characterization in canon i don't like. when is this set? well cas is human and the bunker is there. maybe it's an alternate timeline. i mostly just thought it'd be nice to see the gay angel get a chance to be gay and all the little steps in something like that. everything's made up and the points don't matter.
> 
> anyways we're starting with Wham
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpStpn75LRg

_First class information,_

_Sense your inspiration,_

_And with some stimulation_

_We can do it right._

_-_

His little room in the bunker was mostly bare. It was _his,_ though, which seemed important.

Sam and Dean did not own many things of their own in the first place, so it was with some embarrassment that they handed him spare personal effects; an old blue iPod, a postcard with a cathedral on it and blank except for something scribbled out furiously at the top, a little toy figurine of a man from a comic book, a blank journal, a pen holder in the shape of a cactus that might have been bought at the counter of a hardware store or a hospital gift shop.

They all sat on the desk, except for the postcard, which he had pinned to the wall with a nail, and the iPod, which he worried his hands over as he stared at his little altar of earthly things. It would be nice to have more. It would be nice, at least, to get up and get a pen or something to put in the cactus. 

The room was like some rooms he had seen throughout humanity, where there was too little money to spend on personal effects. It was not at all like the rooms filled with books and papers and clothes and hobbies that he had seen drive some people nuts with the need to organize. He imagined what it would be like to own enough things that he would walk into his room one day and groan at the thought of cleaning. 

Sam had shown him how the iPod worked, and plugged it into his laptop and let him browse music. He’d heard plenty of music throughout time but before it had been like food, just soundwaves and frequencies and patterns. 

“What’s _Wham_?”

Sam had scooted over from his book to look at the screen, “Oh, they’re like a band from the 80’s I think.”

“George Michael?” Dean had looked delighted, and started miming what might have been a trumpet while Sam had rolled his eyes.

“Are they good?”

Sam, earnest as always, had tilted his head, “I think I only know one song of theirs, but yeah. They’re fun. Really upbeat.”

“Hm. Okay,” and Cas had started pirating it the way they’d shown him earlier.

Now, in his room, the little screen between his hands perked bright before fading, _I’m Your Man_ with _Wham!_ underneath it. The album cover had a rainbow stripe up the side. The exclamation point amused him.

He looked back at his altar. The music made it seem more important than before. It was nice, in a way, that all the things he owned were gifts so far. He realized with a brief shock that his foot was tapping. His face felt warm. A threadbare and windowless room in Lebanon, Kansas was a hurtling demotion from the embrace of Heaven, so why couldn’t he stop smiling?

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't got shit to say just yet but i will


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQk0xTwZumo

_Won't go slow, so's not to focus, and I notice–_

_He'll hitch a ride with any guide, as long as_

_They go fast from whence he came,_

_But he's no good at being uncomfortable, so_

_He can't stop staying exactly the same._

_-_

“I think it would be nice for him.”

“To go to a gay bar?”

Sam shrugged, “Charlie said she’d take us to one.”

“... To a gay bar for chicks? Which, on that note, what’s this music?”

“It’s Fiona Apple, don’t be a dick. And no, Dean, she knows a gay bar for men.”

“... And that’s the kind of bar you want to take Cas to? Cas, angel of the lord, nerdy quiet guy, Cas? Our Cas?”

“Yeah, Dean. It turns out not everybody finds fulfillment in jukebox dive bars with busted pool tables.”

“Hey, whoa, don’t knock a man’s sanctuaries. But I just mean. Why uh, this specifically?”

Sam leaned over the kitchen table, “Well, he’s been asking me for help downloading music and movies, right?”

“Oh man, Sammy. Didn’t school teach you that stereotyping is bad?”

“Shut up,” Sam still looked slightly ashamed, “I mean. He asked for Lady Gaga and Beyonce and _You’ve Got Mail_ –”

“Sam, I was joking before but seriously–”

“No, but also, like,” Sam scrolled through texts on his phone, “Like, here. _Big Eden. Brokeback Mountain. Moonlight. Y Tu Mamá También,”_ self-conscious but good enough pronunciation, _“Philadelphia.”_

“Okay, but aren’t those like. Famous movies?”

“They’re all movies that would come up if someone Googled ‘gay movies.’”

Dean leaned back in his chair.

“And you want me to go too.”

“Yeah. Me and Charlie are gonna go, why not?”

“Because Charlie’s gay and you’re–” he stopped, “You went to college.”

“Dean.”

“I don’t know, man. What am I gonna do there?”

“Dance. I don’t know. Charlie said there’s usually bachelorette parties or hags–”

“Hags?”

“Charlie said it means girls who are friends with gay guys.”

“ _Hags?”_

“Whatever. If you were a good friend I wouldn’t have to say this, but I guess I do. There’s gonna be girls there. Just treat it like any bar.”

“Okay,” Dean crossed his arms, “But _only_ because Charlie’s going and I want to ask her what she thinks about the new Star Trek. And if she has a CBS login we can use.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dean critiques new star trek in the most annoying way but gets REALLY annoyed and defensive whenever someone says it's bad. charlie does not really care and just has fun


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKIT28d_yq0

_There's not a soul out there_

_No one to hear my prayer–_

-

“WHY IS THE MUSIC SO LOUD?”

“WHAT?”

“SAM. I CAN’T HEAR ANYTHING.”

Cas resisted the urge to lunge out and hold Sam’s arm in a vice grip to prevent him leaving him alone in the crowded bar. Dean had already disappeared towards the crowd of women dancing near the small tables in the back. Charlie, to the anxiety of everyone involved, had pulled up to the bar, put her foot on the brake, and said, “Have fun!” before driving away to go to a Dungeons and Dragons session at someone’s apartment.

Cas had walked straight to the counter, awkwardly looking for a chair to sit down in, with the same desire for safety that causes people to sleep with their back against a wall. His hand had been shaking when he’d turned back to Sam and started trying to yell over the music. Sam signaled to the bartender, who leaned close to hear him and possibly for less practical reasons, and then turned back to Cas, pointing at the drinks at the bar.

“I’LL SEE IF I CAN GET THEM TO PLAY ABBA.”

“I LIKE ABBA.”

“ME TOO, CAS.”

And then Sam had left him there at the bar, standing in a borrowed shirt and jacket and reaching for the bright blue drink. The bartender nodded at him and put Sam’s change on the counter, and Cas had pocketed it meekly. 

He liked Sam. Sam was a nice person, who tried his best to be kind and helpful to others. He shared some of Dean’s tendencies to hide the truth, or take things too far, but he was overall a good friend who Cas was very grateful to have–

“Hi. First time?”

A young man was at Cas’s side, as the music drummed down to a temporary background level. He leaned on the counter and looked up at Cas with a kind of confidence that couldn’t possibly be meant sexually. He barely looked 21, for God’s sake.

“Yes. I’ve never been here before.”

“You wanna dance with me?”

“I uh,” Cas faltered, “I don’t know this song. My friend is trying to get them to play ABBA.”

“Oh, my mom loves ABBA. I think I talked to your friend. He said I should talk to you.”

Cas turned to see Sam surrounded by a semi-circle of men. He noticed Cas for a moment and waved before going back to talking to the crowd. _Oh, that bastard. That sneaky bastard._

“Uh. What did he say we should talk about?”

The man bit his lip and eyed Cas up and down, “I majored in theology. Maybe we can get to know each other biblically.”

“I think I have to go.”

“Oh, sorry–”

Cas started walking to Sam but the music switched to another song and the lights started flashing again as the volume picked up. He’d forgotten his drink. He’d been rude to a stranger. He was going to have to ask Sam what he thought his “type” was. This was not going well.

Something touched his arm and he flinched. He turned to see another man, in glasses and a neat beard, smiling at him shyly.

“YOUR FRIEND SAID–”

“I’M SORRY, HAVE TO GO.”

Where the living hell was Sam? He’d just seen him. Now he found himself in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by a level of bodies, noise, movement, and light that was going to leave his confidence as a puddle in the floor. How was he supposed to know how to dance? What was he supposed to do? He had a feeling the drinking was an important part of this. In the thrum of sensory overload he noticed a man walking straight towards him. For a moment he was able to rely on his reflexes; a fighting stance for approaching danger. And then he realized the man was smiling and beckoning him closer, and that it was probably another ‘your friend said’ come to find him.

He took off in the other direction. The club was a finite space and if he hit one wall, all he had to do was follow the perimeter until he hit a bathroom. This worked well enough, despite it bringing him directly in front of the speakers and the handsome men dancing on little stages in little shorts, (and he would have liked to be drunk for that part, if it meant that would have given him some kind of way to enjoy it the way everyone else enjoyed it without just standing there mortified), and found a little hallway where the music was quieter. There was a line. Sam was standing in it, still surrounded by men.

“And the thing is, like, yeah it’s important to recycle but a lot of people don’t actually get involved in local groups or causes because the American mindset is so geared towards the individual rather than collective–”

The men around him seemed to be in varying states of realizing Sam was straight and also not going to sleep with them. Cas ignored the dirty glances he got from walking up the line and peeked his head in between the group of disappointed men.

“Oh, hey, Cas, there you are–”

“STOP SENDING MEN TO ME.’

The semi-circle dispersed politely. Some new people in the line crowded closer to listen in on what might be a scandalous break-up. Sam looked stunned enough that Cas lowered his shoulders and realized he’d been, maybe, a little loud.

“Sorry. I just mean–”

“No, I’m sorry, Cas, I thought you might want company–”

“I’m perfectly fine–” No, he wasn’t perfectly fine, either at the bar alone or at night in the bunker alone, he wasn’t going to stand here and lie about this, “Thank you. I know you meant well.”

“Hey, guys. Breaking the seal already?”

Dean had appeared next to Cas. His brain had the typical bubble of thoughts and feelings when Dean appeared, that all popped and said _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean_ as they did. He was standing close to be heard over the music. He was looking at Sam. The curl of his eyelashes was painted by the backlight of the dancefloor. He was holding a beer. Cas pointed to it.

“Can I have that.”

“Uh–”

Cas took it and Dean let him. He drained it. He handed the empty cup back.

“What seal?”

“It’s– It’s an expression for when you’re drinking, and then uh, if you go to the bathroom you spend the whole night going to the bathroom over and over. So you might as well hold it for as long as you can.”

“So no demons.”

“No demons.”

“Okay.”

“How are you two doing? Scoring any numbers?”

Sam was holding a sigh in his chest, “I think we might be a little older than the crowd here.”

“Not stopping me,” Dean held up a hand with three phone numbers scrawled across it.

“Gross."

Dean shrugged. He looked completely at peace in this narrow hallway in this loud bar. He’d probably be able to stand and drink a beer and watch the go-go dancers like they were a TV set in a motel. He’d probably gone up to some woman and nodded and grinned at her, and–

Cas felt like he was going to throw up. Being human had come with a lower alcohol tolerance, and he’d drunk the beer faster than recommended. His mind was already set on the obvious course of action, “I have to go outside.”

“Uh, okay, but make sure to get your hand stamped–”

Cas wouldn’t have walked through the dance floor again if the keys to the kingdom were at the end of it, and was already heading to the grey door at the end of the corridor. He walked past the bathrooms and lines of people and supply room closet and pushed open the door. It was cold outside, and the cold night air was immediately a relief and a reminder that he was doing this all wrong. From inside, he could hear the beginning of ABBA playing, the bass warbling through the walls. He turned around and tried the door– it locked from the inside.

“Oh,” he said to the alley.

-

They watched him barrel out the back exit. Dean sighed.

“How’s he doing?”

“Not great. I know Charlie was trying to help but maybe this is a little too much for him. It’s a little too much for _me,_ to be honest,” Sam turned back to him, “Should we go after him?”

“Dude’s probably puking. We should give him some space.”

“Yeah. He’s got his phone, he can always text us if he needs something.”

“Yeah. Baby steps. At the end of the night we’ll all go home and maybe we can try this some other time. This might actually be better for him than getting wasted his first time out and ending up with some d-bag.”

“He’s not porcelain, Dean. Hey, how the hell do you have three numbers already? We’ve been here for like twenty minutes.”

“Oh, these? I just made them up. You’re right, everyone in here is way too young. I felt like a creep so I’ve just been in the corner trying to look normal. Maybe someone’s hot mom will come in and pick them up.”

“Huh. Still kind of gross. Wait, so are you just carrying around a Sharpie in your pocket then?”

“Hey, if a hot mom _does_ come in, I wanna be ready.”

“Jesus, we really are old. Hey,” Sam spared a glance to the man behind them coughing to get them to move up in the line, “Why’d you lie to Cas then?”

“I don’t want him to think I’m not having fun.”

“Oh. That’s actually kind of thoughtful of you.”

“Fuck off,” Dean hunched his shoulders, “I mean, we’re here for him, right? I want him to just be able to focus on like, finding you know, whatever.”

“Himself?”

“Ew, Sam.”

Dean fiddled with the empty beer cup and looked down the hall, “But I mean, what _is_ the endgame here? Does Cas really get what people come to bars for?”

“He’s millions of years old. I think he knows what a one-night stand is by now.”

“Yeah, but, I don’t know. You think that’s what he wants?”

“I think being around other gay dudes will help him figure out what he wants. What do you think?”

“I think… You know,” he lifted the cup to drink from it and then remembered and put it back down, “Man, he’s a softie. I don’t want him moping around the bunker because some dick didn’t call him back.”

“It’s either that or he mopes around the bunker because he’s stuck around us all the time.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Someone behind them leaned into view, “Could you guys fucking move?”

Sam, “Sorry.”

Dean, “Oh, grow up.”

Stranger, “You grow up!”

“I– Oh shit, is this the song from Mortal Kombat?”

“Dean–”

“See ya, Sammy!”

“Dean! Dean, you don’t even know how to dance!”

Dean flashed a friendly middle finger over his shoulder as the crowd started yelling.

-

Cas had thought about walking around back to the front of the bar, but he didn’t have any cash on him. The man had asked him for five dollars when they’d entered. He had a credit card, which some people accepted as currency and some people didn’t. He sat on the back steps instead and thought over his life.

He’d been alone for a very long time. As a human, what was a few more decades? If he was lucky and didn’t die of a knife to the chest or a swift disease. But love seemed very important to people. It was the nice ending to movies. When people didn’t get it, it was the sad ending. And he knew that some people never had it and died without it, and that life was still something to be treasured. It was still fulfilling to have friends, and a garden on the roof, and maybe some kind of family like Claire. But he had thought about it for a long time and the truth was that he wanted to be loved. 

The other truth was that he was sitting alone in a cold alley, and he didn’t think going back inside was going to help him. But he didn’t know where he was supposed to go. 

He was kind of hungry. They had passed a pizza place on the way. He started walking in that direction.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and also:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9beLc-G5gs
> 
> it was a bright summer day and i wanted nothing more than to be those croats on that club boat listening to ABBA remixes. I'd die for sam


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7ekVPfCbWE

_They bore me with their pretty little words,_

_Those pretty little words of devotion–_

_But oh, let me tell you right now_

_My message to 'em this evening_

_Is they can jump in anybody's ocean._

_-_

Charlie walked into the club. If you let them slap a designated driver bracelet on you, the kind that you had to chew off with your teeth, they let you in without a cover charge. She had wondered if maybe it was mean to send the boys to a club that needed a cover charge, but it also seemed traitorous to send them to any gay club unless they were going to at least pay upfront.

She had gotten a text 20 minutes ago from Sam, _hey, maybe a quick nite. Can you pick us up?_

DND was not really DND but a quick hookup with a girl from a reddit for dungeon masters, who lived nearby and who Charlie had left in half a sorceress costume before apologizing and bailing.

“Sorry about this, I thought they’d be in there way longer.”

“And these are– Who are these guys again?”

“Uh, two guys who are like brothers to me. And then a third guy who’s like their best friend and roommate. And the first two guys are actual brothers, to each other.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And he’s gay and they wanted to take him to a gay bar because he grew up kind of sheltered, but like, they’re all a little old and now I feel bad.”

“Huh. And the other two are straight.”

“Well. Sam is, weirdly,” she’d tripped back into her boots in the girl’s entryway, “Dean is– I mean. Nevermind. It’s not important. Sorry, again. Hopefully it will be quick, I’ll text you, if um, if I can come back.”

Charlie swore at the parking meters and the guy tailgating her and parked two blocks down in the residential area. The more time passed the more she could feel her chances of getting laid dropping to a karmic zero. She texted Sam _i’m here where are you._

Oh God, everyone inside this club was so young. When was the last time she’d been here? Her phone buzzed, _not sure where cas is. Did you see him outside?_

She stopped a few steps in. Was this the song from Mortal Kombat?

-

“I can’t tell if this pizza is helping or not.”

“You said you drank one beer?”

“It was– I drank it very fast.”

Cas ducked his head, but the other man’s laugh made him look up, pleased that he was pleased.

The pizza place had been so empty inside that Cas would have walked out if a man sitting at a table by the windows hadn’t glanced at him and smiled reassuringly. 

“The cashier’s in the back.”

The man had a sensible jacket on. He had a sleeve of tattoos on his arm, that seem more accumulated than curated. Cas could make out a magnolia blooming near the elbow. The man had a slice of pizza and a laptop in front of him. He had very kind eyes.

Cas had ordered, and then stood there with his plate of pizza weeping grease, and it seemed almost more awkward to go sit alone than to join the man who was still looking at him with amusement. 

“You want to sit with me?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Cas had sat with tight shoulders and tried to eat his pizza as unnoticeably as possible. The man had let him. Cas had finally felt too miserable not to say something. He had to at least try.

“This sounds like Aretha Franklin, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“This? Oh, yeah. Huh. It’s nice though,” Cas had continued staring at the ceiling as if the title was written in the cheap plaster, and the man had offered, “Want me to look it up?”

They’d started talking. Cas explained his night. The man beamed at the bit where he yelled at Sam, which made him feel less guilty about it.

“What exactly did you tell him your type was?”

“I didn’t,” Cas put head in his hands, but smiled when he heard the man laugh again.

“Yeah, that place has changed. I used to go there when I just moved here, but now it’s mostly for grad students. I’ve seen some of my kids coming out of there.”

“You have children?” The man didn’t seem old enough to have kids who could drink.

“No, no. I’m a professor at the local college.”

“Oh. What do you teach?”

“English literature,” he shrugged, as if that was predictable.

Cas started asking about books. Dean read a lot of books, had a lot of opinions about anything from Arthur Conan Doyle to Octavia Butler to Stephen King. But they always seemed like something you had to pry out of him and grab fast, like swiping a pearl out of a clam shell. Now that they had a place to stay, Dean had been building up a collection of used and yellowed paperbacks. Even if he wouldn’t talk about them freely, he always seemed happy for the rest of the day when Cas would ask if he could borrow one. The professor readily talked about Baldwin and Dostoyevsky. 

“In your opinion, does _Crime and Punishment_ have to be so long?”

It earned another laugh, and Cas relaxed, “I think it's got merit. But no, I think maybe there’s some worthwhile editing they could have done. However, if you ask someone who’s really into numerology–”

They talked for awhile. They went outside when the place finally closed and the cashier remembered to ask them to leave. 

“Do you uh, need a ride home?”

“Oh, I–”

Cas reached for his phone; there were several text messages and calls. He put it on silent when they weren’t hunting because he hated the constant buzzing and ringing.

“Oh no.”

“Did you tell them you were getting something to eat?”

“No. I did not.”

The man raised his eyebrows and exhaled, “Well, you’re in a lot of trouble. You better text them you’re okay before I ask you something.”

Cas’s fingers paused on the phone before he looked at the pizza place and texted the name to Sam along with _was hungry. Sorry_ and then he backspaced and typed _very sorry_ instead. He sent it and pocketed the phone.

“Ask me what?”

“I had a nice night talking to you. It was worth falling behind on grading papers.”

“Oh, I’m sorry–”

“No, no, I mean it. I was gonna say, if you didn’t have anything else to do tonight, and things didn’t work out at the bar, we could always go back to my place,” the man rubbed the back of his neck, “God, no matter how old I get, that still sounds seedy as hell. I mean, you already texted your friends, turn me down if you need to–”

“No,” Cas flinched from his own response, “No, I would like to go home with you, I think.”

“Your friends–”

“Let me text them again.”

To Sam, _nevermind. Got a ride. Made a friend. Will be home later._

_Okay. be careful. Let us know if you want a ride later._

Another text: _text us this guy’s address in case you disappear_

_Have fun_

Cas smiled at the phone, “Okay, I’m good.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to introduce my unexpected spn OC, because good god these people need to talk to someone who's never been possessed before


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hy9W_mrY_Vk&list=PLbo0guGxPFOIdRfJgEcr-er2qA8cLoWqj&index=6&t=0s

_I know you're waiting for the words that you can't get from me,_

_Just treat me good and baby I'll give you the rest of me._

_-_

“Hey, Charlie, Cas says he’s good. He just texted me an address where he’s gonna be tonight.”

Dean, banished to backseat because it was borderline ghoulish to not let someone as tall as Sam take shotgun, reared up and grabbed the shoulder of Sam’s seat, “What do you mean? Where’s he going?”

Sam shrugged, “He made a friend.”

Charlie took a left turn, “Oh, a _friend.”_

“Hold on, hold on. Do we know who this guy is? What if he’s bad news?”

“Like our kind of bad news or the normal bad news? Because Cas can handle either. Also it’s not like we do a stake-out on whoever you go home with.”

“Hey, guys, speaking of which, can I go back to my thing? Sam, if you’re not drunk, you can drive my car back to the bunker and pick me up tomorrow.”

“Yeah, no problem, Charlie. Thanks for driving tonight.”

“Wait, hold on. Your DND thing? You gotta stay the night for that one?” the smug distraction lasted a blissful five seconds before Dean switched back, “Wait, but Cas– I don’t feel good about this.”

Only Sam could see Charlie roll her eyes, but Dean would probably hear it in her voice, “Yeah, of course _you_ don’t.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” her voice upticked at the end, “You’re just the worrywart of the group. That’s all. You’re like everyone’s mom.”

“Hey, whoa–”

“Yeah, dude. Cas can be kind of–” Sam bobbed his head back and forth a little, “But he can take care of himself. And if he can’t, he can contact us. Nothing weird has been happening in this town though, we already checked. And the whole point of tonight is that we gotta let him do stuff without us constantly being his reference on humanity.”

“I guess. What if he–” Dean leaned back, “What if something happens and he doesn’t realize it’s not– That it’s not normal? This is a lot for his first night.”

“Dean, you brought him to a sex worker once.”

“Yeah, Sam, because that’s a professional. You can trust them, they know what they’re doing. And he still screwed that up!”

“I know you’re,” Sam paused, “protective of him. But we can’t hold his hand while uh, you know. While he’s doing something like this. He lived alone. He found a job, and was homeless, and I think he can figure this out. Remember how you didn’t want him to think you weren’t having fun earlier?”

Dean was now fully sulking in the rear view mirror, “Yeah.”

“So don’t text him now freaking out or he’s gonna come running because he thinks you’re pissed or whatever. Just be like, a normal person.”

“I’m totally normal.”

“No, you’re really not. Are you texting him right now?”

“No, I’m playing Tetris, get off my dick.”

_Cas. If the dude’s bad just call us we’ll come get you_

_Don’t do anything you don’t want to do_

He almost typed _happy for you_ but it felt so forced and goofy that he tossed the phone to the other side of the backseat. Nothing like an existential crisis standing at a bar full of twenty-somethings realizing that you’re older than your parents when they met each other and you’d rather be home in bed by 10 pm. And just earlier that day you had a clear picture of how the night would end, a comforting arm slung around a friend in the backseat of this weird car together and telling him _Hey, Rome wasn’t gay in a day_ and everyone going home. Fuck, if he was married with a 9 to 5 and two kids would he still be this codependent or was this just ingrained in his fucking personality by now?

He leaned his head against the window, “Hey, Charlie, what music is this?”

“Solange. I’m not gonna change it, it’s my car.”

“No, I like it.”

Sam, offended, “Hey–”

“Your girly music isn’t bad because it’s girly, it’s bad because it’s depressing, Sam.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really have no idea how old they are supposed to be in this fic and i don't think they're really that old. but if you're at a gay club surrounded by college students OR you spent your whole life thinking you'd be dead by ghosts or something by 24, you WILL feel ancient


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tV0P9EXU6E

_“She's mending a fairy tale,_

_Reading her heart.”_

_That's a good motto_

_For some junkman's cart._

_-_

The professor made him pancakes in the morning. He had slept later than usual in the one bedroom apartment on the third floor of some downtown brick building. They drank coffee at the corner of the breakfast bar because the professor, whose name was Harold, did not own a dining table. 

Harold did own several bookcases, cluttered desks, and a coffee table that Cas could feel radiating love the same way he used to be able to see people’s souls. It was small. Only one person lived there. There were some houseplants in the corner, and the blinds were open, and a mirror on the wall that showed him his face, his wrinkled clothes from last night, his bare feet on the bottom rung of a bar stool. He turned shyly away.

“You like _The Mamas and the Papas_?”

“Do I like… Parents?”

Harold smiled as he poured some coffee, “No, it’s a band. They’re playing right now, but I can change it if you want.”

Cas paid attention to the music. It sounded like something Sam had played once. Dean had huffed and said it was corny, but looked out the window instead of changing it.

“Oh. I like this.”

“Good.”

Harold had been separated for two years. He and his husband hadn’t been legally married, because it was illegal at the time. And then once it was legal, they were no longer interested in being together. But they’d been together a long time. They’d referred to each other as husbands because that was not illegal. He’d used to live with his husband in a small house in a small town that was a ten minute drive away from the college. They’d parted over inevitable differences.

“Some things that bother you, you think, over time they’ll go away and only the good stuff will be left,” he shrugged over his empty plate, “But sometimes it’s the other way around.”

“Did you love him?” Cas winced at himself; one of those questions that was too forward.

“I did. We loved each other. But that doesn’t last forever,” Harold sighed, “And it’s better to recognize that than to stick with something that isn’t working and isn’t making you happy, just because you’re afraid to admit it.”

“Still. I’m sorry. I’m sure it was hard.”

“It was. It still is, to get older and wake up and either the place is empty or I give in and start dating again _._ Feels like I won some kind of award for domestic normalcy and then got it taken away. Like an empty space on the shelf.”

“Do you think you’ll fall in love again?”

He shrugged, “I hope so.”

Cas thought of glancing towards the mirror again. Harold coughed.

“That wasn’t in reference to you, in case you’re worried. I don’t usually try to tie guys down before noon.”

Cas squinted, “Tie… I know some people use bonds during sex, but last night–”

“That’s not what I mean, Cas,” Harold, thankfully, still seemed more amused than sick of him, “How are you, by the way? Last night was your first time.”

“How did you–”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t good, but I could tell you were watching me half the time waiting for your cues. You have fun?”

“I.” 

It had been nerve-wracking, though he had plenty of cold filing-cabinet heavenly knowledge of every kind of intimacy invented since the animals started doing it on land, and some videos he’d searched online that had caused Sam to pull him aside and show him how to use the incognito tab. He’d laid in bed and tried to think of himself as Billy Crystal kissing Meg Ryan, or Meg Ryan being kissed by Tom Hanks, or the businessman from New York who had caught the eye of an experienced country farm-hand at the stables of a resort in that one movie with very low production value. He tried to think of himself as the men in the movies where the men survived until the end, being kissed by another man. And that last daydream had always brought to mind a specific face, more than the pornos did, and he’d get up and turn on a light to shoo away the green eyes in the back of his mind where he tried not to look.

Harold had been slow, and patient, and laughed when Cas bumped into an end table while they’d been kissing and trying to walk backwards. At a certain point it had been easy not to overthink things, because his body was doing most of the work that his brain usually did. All he’d had to was relax.

“I had fun. Thank you.”

“Well, I had fun too, you don’t need to thank me. But good. I’m glad.”

Cas finished eating and pulled out his phone for something do with his hands. Dean had texted him twice last night. He stared at the messages, wondering if he should text back that he was fine. The guy hadn’t been bad at all. Harold’s voice made him look up.

“What about you? Ever been in love?”

“Oh,” Cas let all the breath out of him, “I. Last night was my first time.”

“I know. But you never kissed anyone? Had a crush?”

He’d trusted the man enough to go home with him. Why not tell him? Just for the sake of telling anyone at this point.

“There’s a friend of mine.”

“Oh, this is a familiar story.”

“Is it?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a bad interrupter. Keep going.”

“He’s,” he almost shuddered as he breathed out, “I um. Saved his life. That’s how we met. Uh. Drowning incident. Pulled him out of a lake. He was dead. Basically.”

Harold was no longer smiling. His eyebrows were high on his head.

“He likes women. I don’t mind. He’s done a lot for me. He does a lot for other people. Sometimes too much. We’ve gotten into some big fights. I’ve… I’ve just left a few times. We always end up back together though. I don’t think either of us are good at talking about certain things. We both had absent fathers. They didn’t really… Neither of us were really raised the way people should be. It’s strange. I don’t think I questioned mine at all until I met him, and he couldn’t understand why I’d be loyal to a man who was never there for me when I needed him. But now all I can think is that I wish I knew how to do the same for him. To make him stop caring what his father would think.”

“And you think loving him is what made you stop caring what your dad would think?”

Cas wouldn’t have been surprised if he turned to see the mirror cracked and shattered, “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“How long have you felt like this?”

“Several years.”

Harold exhaled, “I thought I’d love my husband forever. You think maybe one day your feelings will change?”

“No,” he stared into the syrup streaks on the plate, hoping for a sign in the lines and waves, “I don’t think this will ever go away.”

Harold let out a low whistle and stood up, “I’m gonna get you another cup of coffee.”

-

“We have the guy’s address, right? Let’s just drive into town. That way when Cas _does_ text us, we’ll be right there ready.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“I woke up early to do some cleaning.”

“You smell like… You know when someone drinks a lot of coffee and they spend all morning pacing around the kitchen coming up with conspiracies about their friend’s sex life?”

“I’m not gonna kick down the door, I’m just saying–”

“Maybe his friend can drive him home.”

“Oh yeah, like Cas is gonna be like, ‘Hey, can you drop me off at this creepy bunker an hour away? I live there with two other dudes. Thanks.’”

Dean’s phone pinged. He hated the noises, especially when the five different group chats started talking, but kept it on all the time just in case. 

_Hi. if not too much trouble would like a ride home. Still at same address. No rush. Thank you_

“People have some weird living arrangements these days, it wouldn’t be so strange. Hey. Why aren’t you this freaked out about Charlie?”

Dean started typing, “What?”

“Charlie? You know? Red hair, human, even geekier than you, also spent the night at someone’s place?”

_On way_

“She can handle herself.”

“But a literal superhuman angel can’t.”

“He’s not an angel anymore, he’s some dude who’s new to all this. Hey, I just got a text from him. You good to get Charlie her car back?”

“Yeah, I’ll drop off her car now and then you guys can swing by and pick me up.”

“Solid plan.”

Sam grabbed his jacket by the door, “For once.”

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think cas doesn't know pop culture references/etc at a certain point, but i do think he will almost always take everything literally until someone clarifies it


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYqJtqyeilE

_On the way back home we sang a song,_

_But our throats were getting dry._

_Then we saw the man from across the road_

_With the sunshine in his eyes._

_Well, he lived all alone in his own little home_

_With a great big gallon jar._

_There were bottles too, one for me and you_

_And he said "Hey! There you are."_

-

The Impala, as ostentatious as ever, was pulled up below the apartment. Harold leaned against the window.

“Wow. That’s your friend’s car?”

“Yes.”

“This the friend-friend?”

“Yes. That, or his brother. I mean– I should go. Thank you.”

“Here.”

Harold palmed him his number, written on a torn piece of paper with a local real estate agent grinning at the top of it.

“No pressure. But if you’re ever in town again. We can just talk if you want.”

“You’re a very kind person and I’m glad I met you at this time in my life.”

“And you’re a little strange, Cas. I’m glad we met too.”

-

Cas got in the passenger seat, “Where’s Sam?”

“Good morning to you too. What, you’re not happy that I’m Charon on your very first drive of shame?”

“My what?”

“It’s– It’s nothing. It’s just a joke.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Cas. It’s just an expression for when you go home with someone and gotta get home the next morning in the same clothes you wore the night before,” that was a little too close to the subject for comfort, “But you _should_ say good morning when someone shows up to drive your ass home.”

“Good morning, Dean,” growled, sarcastic, but good enough.

“Thank you,” Dean nodded firmly, satisfied, “You hungry? We gotta pick up Sam, he’s bringing Charlie her car. We could get breakfast somewhere in town.”

“No, I already ate.”

“Oh,” Dean nodded, a little less jokingly, “Nice guy.”

“Yes, he was very kind.”

Dean audibly swallowed and appreciated the block of apartment buildings and laundromats and delis. Maybe a demon would jump out of the alley or a hole would swallow them up (more plausible than it should be) or he’d think of something to say that did not feel incredibly inappropriate or– Or what? Mean? He wasn’t homophobic, why was he worried about sounding mean? What did he care? He’d driven this same car though a building once or twice, what was a little walking over eggshells?”

“You have fun?”

“I did.”

He grunted, “Good. That’s good.”

“I’m sorry. For leaving and not looking at my phone.”

“Yeah. Well. You’ve always had a tendency to pop in and out, it’s not new. And you’re safe. But c’mon, man, turn your notifications on. We were driving around looking for you.”

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s fine, Cas. Just worried. But I do that all the time, apparently.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Something Charlie said.”

“Did you have fun last night?”

“Huh? Oh, we went home after we knew you were– you were good.”

“Oh. What about the women?”

“The women?”

“The women. On your hand.”

“Cas. What?”

Cas reached out a hand to point to Dean’s hand. At the red light he lifted it off the wheel. The numbers were smeared and illegible.

“Oh. I– I realized I was kind of tired. Too bad for them.”

“Yes. Too bad for them.”

Dean snorted, “Thanks. That’s why you’re my right hand man, Cas. Hey, can you text Sam? I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Sure, Dean,” Cas cradled his phone in both hands and looked up, “Oh, I like this song.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I still don’t understand though. Jelly rolls are very soft. How do you stone someone with one?”

“You know,” Dean turned the wheel, hand over hand, “I’ll be honest. I have no idea either.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Stoned me just like Jelly Roll. And it stoned me.' That lyric is thought to be a reference to jazz musician Jelly Roll Morton, whose recordings Morrison listened to with his father as he was growing up."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ve4t2fTz1U0

_Sit in the car parked in the dark, hearing rain drop on the roof._

_Sit in the car parked in the dark, hearing rain drop on the roof._

_Today marks the sixth year_

_From when I first met you._

-

Whatever Dean suspected the gay scene was like in Kansas, Cas’s truck started disappearing more than he would have bet.

He called out when Cas tried to slink by the kitchen doorway, “Going out for groceries, Cas?”

“I– No.”

“Getting condoms?”

“Dean,” Sam, ironically in every way the bitchy angel on his shoulder, was on the other side of the table, “Have fun, Cas. Be safe.”

“How is that any different from what I just said?”

“I didn’t mean– I just meant, you know, stop at yellow lights–”

Cas had already escaped. Sam pretended to stare at his laptop before looking up, “You gotta cut that shit out.”

“What? Really, what?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I can’t talk to my best friend about his apparently very successful love life?”

“No, you can do that, if you can be a well-adjusted person for like five minutes. But you can’t lurk in the bunker and harass him every time he’s trying to sneak out.”

“Well, why is he trying to sneak out? What exactly is he doing with these guys?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Don’t be gross, Sam.”

Sam slammed the laptop shut with an unimpressive clatter, “Okay. For real, are you homophobic? Because I know we never really talked about it, and that’s on me being a bad ally, but like, we _literally_ live with a gay guy now. So what’s up with you?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m friends with two lesbians. And I don’t know if any gay guys would consider me friends, but I don’t think I’m like, on bad terms. Hey, by the way, how are Max and Alicia since we got her body back–”

“Claire is a teenager, she doesn’t count as a friend.”

“I’m a mentor figure. A bad one, but it still counts.”

“Dean. Shut up. Okay. Let’s say you’re not homophobic. Would you be this uncomfortable if Cas was hooking up with a bunch of women?” 

“I. Well. That’s–”

“And don’t say something misogynistic, because that’s a whole other talk.”

Dean looked up to the ceiling. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe if he pushed his chair backwards and kicked the table over, Sam would be so distracted trying to keep his Yerba Mate from ruining his laptop that he might have enough time to run into the night, or into the summer mid-afternoon at least.

“Dean. Ding ding, time’s up. Contestant’s answers, please.”

“Fine,” Dean sucked on his teeth, “I’m just. You know how… You know how we were raised.”

“Yeah, I was there. And?”

“And you might have gone to college and taken Cool Hip Friend 101 but I didn’t and I’m afraid I’m gonna say something stupid, okay?”

Sam leaned back in his chair, “Oh. Okay.”

“What?”

“I’m kind of relieved.”

“Jeez, Sam, I know I’m an asshole sometimes but I’m not some Tea-Party, stone-age, Concerned-Mothers-With-Their-Heads-Up-Their-Ass freak.”

“Yeah, well, you used to say some shit that I don’t think you should have.”

“Yeah, well, I used to think I should do everything dad did, and that sure was fun, wasn’t it?”

Sam grimaced, maybe just at the mention of John, maybe at Dean, “You don’t have treat him any differently. Just. Relax. It’s still Cas.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t know how to talk to him about this. And not talking about it, that seems kind of shitty too.”

“You really can’t just talk to him about it in way that doesn’t sound like you’re about to bully him at his locker?”

“Ugh, Sam, I was never doing that kind of thing, even in school,” he was too busy getting bullied and gossiped about for skipping class for weeks or reading under the bleachers or showing up with bruises and claw marks.

“So cut it with the wiseass shit!”

“That’s how I normally talk to him!”

“Yeah, but now you sound like, _weird_ about it. Like, pissy.”

“Why would I be pissy?”

“Dean, again, that is what I’m desperately trying to figure out right now. You know, you know what?” Sam puffed his chest out, never a good sign, “You sound jealous! That’s it.”

“Jealous!” Dean laughed with all his teeth on display, turning his head to show the kitchen appliances every molar and canine, “Jealous. That’s. That’s a good one.”

“No. Really. What, you’re mad that Cas is hooking up with more people than you are now? That he’s having fun without us?” and then Sam didn’t say a third thing, even though there was something he could have said, and instead he just looked Dean in the eye even as Dean squared his jaw and looked away.

Dean looked at the doorway, and shrugged tightly, “Yeah. Sure. I’m jealous I’m not hooking up with strangers anymore and throwing my back out. I mean, damn, how is he doing it? Is he doing yoga or something now?”

“Yeah, me and him do it after breakfast.”

“What?”

“Just talk to him, Dean. I know that talking about feelings is like eating glass for you but just let him know you’re happy for him. He really cares what you think, you know?”

“Yeah. God knows why, but yeah.”

-

“Hey, Cas. Catch.”

Cas turned around and by some un-miracle, was able to catch the car keys tossed at him instead of letting them hit his chest. His reflexes weren’t what they used to be. He looked at them, knowing they were the keys to the Impala but still surprised to actually hold them.

“You want me to drive somewhere?”

Dean shrugged, big and loose, hands in pockets, “Yeah. You said you wanted to get some stuff for the garden, right? I’ve been inside all day, I wanna come with.”

“Oh,” Cas held the keys like a wounded bird, “You know, I don’t really want to put several bags of dirt in your car. Can we take the truck?”

“Oh. Sure,” Dean pursed his lips in that weird way he did that meant he wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t upset, “That’s fine too.”

Cas put the keys in his outstretched hand, “But thank you. If you still want to go somewhere, I would like to drive the Impala another time. It seems fun.”

“It’s weird you haven’t driven it yet.”

Cas’s gratitude disappeared in smoke as he turned his glance sideways to Dean, “You wouldn’t let me.” 

“Okay. In my defense I didn’t really think you knew how to drive. What, like there’s a DMV in heaven?”

Cas allowed a grin at that, bashful at the floor. He jumped a little when Dean’s hand landed on his shoulder, but when he looked up, Dean was gesturing at the hallway as they walked to the garage.

“And I mean, you _stole_ that truck. So,” he waved a finger in the air, but when Cas just smiled at him he could see that Dean was trying not to look too pleased.

-

Dean helped him lug the bags of dirt into the truckbed, along with a new pot and two peach trees that were barely a foot high. Dean looked at them with doubt.

“You know, it’s gonna take forever for those thing to actually bear fruit.”

Cas looked at them as beatifically as if they were two babies in a crib, “I know. But they were cheaper than the bigger ones. And I like the idea of raising them myself.”

“Okay. Why two?”

“The nursery said that they cross pollinate. The pollinator needs two different peach trees to go between to get them to bear fruit.”

“Hm. Sounds like a good way to double sales.”

“Dean,” but fond even as it was chastising, and Dean tried not to grin too hard as he pushed up the tailgate. 

They got in the car. Dean liked the truck. He gave Cas shit for stealing it but Cas had said some goody two-shoes shit about _oh I blessed that man while I still had my powers and now he’s got enough wealth to buy three trucks and enough happiness that he doesn’t care_ and blah blah. It was a nice truck. He was glad Cas had something of his own.

The music that came on the CD sounded different than what he’d been hearing coming quietly from under Cas’s bedroom door, “Uh, who’s this?

“Claire made this CD for me, I’m not sure–” Cas squinted at the highway, “I think. _Adult Mom.”_

And then he frowned, as if the phrase ‘adult mom’ and ‘Claire’ in the same sentence was a grim reminder. Dean tried not to sound like a kiss-ass.

“I like it. Reminds me of Springsteen.” 

Did it? He never actually listened to a lot of Springsteen. But Cas’s face lightened.

“Yes. I like them too.”

“Them. It’s a band?”

“Ah, no. Well. Maybe. But Claire was telling me about it. The singer is not a man or a woman. So they go by ‘they.’”

“Oh. Cool. Cool.”

He sat in the passenger seat and let Cas explain gender to him, as he’d been learning through his teenage almost-daughter and Sam and the internet. Dean nodded over and over again, trying not to look like some friendless and ignorant dropout.

“Cool. I’m glad for them. You know, all of the thems. Good for them.”

“Yes,” and Cas smiled wide, “I am too. Modern gender in Western society got very narrow. In Babylon–”

And Dean tried not to look visibly overwhelmed at how bad he was with history and geography as Cas happily rambled through the history and streets of ancient civilizations as if it was a vacation he’d taken when he was younger, and several words that must have been in another language.

“Jeez. I forget you, uh. Know a lot.”

“It’s always nice when I know something and you don’t.”

“Hey, don’t get cocky now.”

Cas never looked away from the road, but he beamed, a little smug but mostly looking like he’d just had a blue ribbon pinned to his shirt. Dean stared at him for a bit longer before turning to the windshield.

“I don’t mean to sound corny, but. I’m proud– Ah shit that’s a cliche. I’m… I’m happy for you. And really impressed, you know, that you’re stepping out of your comfort zone and trying new things and uh. It’s a big leap.”

“It’s a little scary. But so are most things we’ve done.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I already rebelled against heaven. It’s not like falling in love with men is going to get me in trouble. I think the bigger issue is they’re humans.”

Dean blinked very fast and very casually at the field they drove by, “You fell in love with a guy already?”

A long silence, and then, “No.”

“Oh. Okay. Well. With a face like that, any day now.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“No problem.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my fic and i get to put a hamfisted PSA scene of dean winchester learning about they/thems if i want to


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIE4UjBtx-o

_You got a broken heart?_

_He's double dealin' with your best friend._

_That's when the tear drops start, fella._

_Pick up the phone, I'm here alone,_

_Or make a social call._

_-_

Months passed. Cas seemed happier. Holidays, birthdays, seasons. Sometimes the truck was there and sometimes it wasn’t. What had Dean been so freaked out about? What had been the big boogie man he’d been waiting for? Sam, bless him and the fact that Dean would never, ever tell him, had been right.

-

“What do you mean you’re moving out?”

“Keith offered to let me move in with him.”

“Who the hell is Keith?”

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, Sam standing behind Cas like a sentinel ready to tell Dean to cool it– or he would, if Cas wasn’t quick and ready to defend himself, hands folded on the table like a key witness leaning into the mic.

“Keith is my boyfriend.”

“What?”

“We’ve been seeing each other steadily for a few months.”

“And you never mentioned him.”

Calmly, objectively, “I’m mentioning him now.”

“And you’re gonna live with him?”

“Yes.”

“How are you gonna pay rent?”

“I was going to get a part time job.”

Dean looked up to Sam for help. Surely he wasn’t the one acting out of line here, right? This was ridiculous, right? Sam had the decency to also look stunned and the gall to just shrug.

“And what, you and Keith are gonna get married? You’re gonna tell him you used to live in a bunker? Have a daughter who doesn’t live with you? That you used to hunt demons, and oh yeah, you used to be an angel in literal freaking _heaven_?”

“Dean,” and Dean let the kitchen counter bruise him in the back, just so he could lean away from the glare Cas was bringing out of storage, “This is my decision. I understand the complexities. I want to do this.”

Sam looked like he was about to say something, and then very abruptly did not say anything when Dean said in a voice he hated and didn’t expect, “Are you in love with this guy?”

Everyone’s eyes went wide. Dean left the room. 

-

Sam knocked on the door. The music inside got even louder.

“Dean,” he didn’t even bother shouting, saying it more to whatever vague idea of a higher power his kind of still secretly believed in than to his older brother who was really getting too old for this shit, “Cas is leaving today. You wanna be able to hear tomorrow or do you wanna destroy your eardrums and not say goodbye instead?”

Sam knocked again, just in case. He could probably kick the door down. Or hatchet it down. Have a _The Shining_ moment just to fuck with him if he was gonna act like this.

Nope. No, that was escalation, that was the kind of trouble they always fell into, and then before you knew it someone was promising their soul to hell or trying to pull a heist on heaven and that was not– That wasn’t tenable. It really, really wasn’t.

He knocked one more time. Then he lowered his hand, just as the music cut off and Dean opened the door.

“What.”

“I’m not gonna pry. We don’t have to talk about it. But Cas is leaving in an hour. You want to say goodbye?”

“Why? Does Keith live in Arizona?”

“No, he lives forty minutes away with traffic. Cas owns about a box of stuff and it can all fit in his truck, so he’s pretty much ready to go.”

“Did he tell you? Do you know who Keith is?”

“I asked him if he was dating anyone a few months ago, and he said he was. I didn’t push it. I’m surprised but, I mean, people move in with people.”

“But it’s _Cas.”_

“And he’s a human being and he’s doing what humans do.”

“You know, you like to say he’s an angel and you like to say he’s a human whenever it suits you.”

“So do you. At least I don't blast AC/DC when I'm in a bad mood.”

“Great observation, Dr. Phil, now read my palm,” Dean gave him the finger, but didn’t slam the door.

Sam walked in, and sat on the bed, and relaxed when Dean didn’t tell him to get the fuck out, “What did you think was gonna happen?”

Dean flicked an eraser off his desk, “I thought everything was fine the way it was.”

“You thought it was fine if Cas just hooked up with people and never settled down and never left this bunker?”

“Why not? I don’t think–” he didn’t finish it.

“Dean.”

“You always say that.”

“... Your name?”

“Yeah. Like you can just say _Dean_ and think some sleeper agent of me who knows what to say or do is gonna wake up. Guess what, Sam, it’s just me. There’s no better version of me waiting to be activated or whatever. It’s just,” he tapped his fingers on the desk, “It’s just me.”

Sam leaned back on his hands, “Huh. So, by that logic, nobody ever has to try to get better ever. That sounds good.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, really, I like it. I was gonna try to get better at cooking, but you’re right. I should just give up. I’m Sam and I’ll never change and I’ll always be bad at cooking. Unless, you know, you’re saying you’re special and you’re the only person on the planet who can’t change, ever.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He came and sat down next to Sam, who still looked innocent. Dean put him in a loose headlock, and Sam leaned into it.

“You are still such a brat, you know that? How do you do that? Still sound exactly like you did when you were a brainy little fourteen year old who knew he was too smart?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re still a teen girl who sulks in her bedroom and won’t come down for dinner.”

“Kind of misogynist, Sam.”

“Jerk.”

“Smartass.”

Dean pushed him away. Sam decided to rip off the band-aid.

“I love you, Dean. I always want us to be part of each other’s lives. But you know, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this bunker with you.”

“What about a condo in Miami?”

“Stop. You know I’ve been texting Eileen. Emailing her. I really like her.”

“Oh God. I forgot you got a Keith too.”

“She’s traveling a lot right now, but we’ve been talking and she doesn’t want to do that forever. I don’t want my whole life to be sleeping alone and seeing weird shit. I want to get married some day, Dean. I get why Cas wants to move out because I want that too.”

Dean lowered his head in his hands, and thankfully didn’t sound like a bullfrog the way he did when he was so close to tears he was livid, “I’m gonna be some crusty old wizard librarian here in this cement bachelor pad, aren’t I.”

“Can you even grow a beard that long?”

“Exactly like the kind they paint on the side of vans. That’s what I’m gonna look like.”

“Is that what you want?”

“What else am I gonna do, Sam?”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know. Change?”

-

Dean knocked on Cas’s door. It would only technically be Cas’s door for about thirty more minutes, and it would be– spiritually, emotionally, like something that needed to be exorcised– Cas’s door for a very long time.

“Come in.”

Cas was sitting on the bed. He had bought a blue bedsheet just shy of sensible to replace the grey military shit the bunker had come with. Most of the few things he had come to own were already in a box by his feet, but some stuff was still out. There was a poster on the wall of the Grand Canyon. There was a calendar by the bed with kittens dressed as astronauts that might as well have had FROM CLAIRE, BUT IRONICALLY written over it in blood. Hung up shamelessly and affectionately, because Cas would have displayed a pair of novelty socks from her like they were the Mona Lisa. The desk, with a few more post cards. A potted plant. God, what was going to happen to the garden upstairs? And what was going to happen all these little weird things about Cas that seemed too easy for the world to not understand or take care to preserve? Did Keith appreciate this loyalty for gas station key-chains, kitschy gifts, an almost-cyan cactus the size of a quarter?

Dean realized his throat was raw. He bit his lip and tried not to sound any different, “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas did not look away from his desk. 

“Can I sit down?”

Cas lowered his head. Dean tentatively stepped forward, and sat on the corner.

“I’ve come back from the pit of embarrassing displays of headass-dom to say bye,” Dean did half-hearted jazz hands, and Cas did not look up.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Did you have a tantrum right after I did? Trying to upstage me?”

“No,” very seriously despite his joking, the way Dean liked, and again that pang of _what if someone makes Cas feel like he always needs to play along, what if someone makes him feel like he has to change the best things about him,_ “I should have told you about Keith. It’s a very big thing to drop on you. I know I– I have a habit of leaving very suddenly. I still think of things in terms of being one place, and then being another. I forget about the in-between part.”

“Yeah. If we’d known you were moving we’d have a little party for you, invite some people over. Or we could meet Keith and invite him over too,” Dean was not ready to address the barking internal part of him that would rather drive a dirtbike off a cliff rather than meet Keith, “That’s how people normally do this kind of thing.”

“Sam said you might be worried. But he’s nice. I like his friends. They’re all nice to me. I talked to Harold about him.”

“Harold… Harold?”

“He’s the man I met at the pizza place. He’s a professor. I slept with him and you picked me up the next morning.”

“Ah. And he’s… He’s a friend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Dean furrowed his brow, “Oh, is he the one you talk about sometimes? That professor? He hates _Cuckoo’s Nest_?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Ah. Well, I’d definitely like to meet him,” and there was no inner pack of junkyard dogs at this thought, just the normal level of bone-deep shyness and anxiety and fear of meeting someone with a real job and a degree, “I hope you’ll invite Sam and I over once you get settled.”

“Yes, I would like that.”

Dean scratched the back of his hand. Cas stared at the desk again.

“Did I already apologize to you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry, Cas. You’re allowed to move out and– And I mean of course you don’t want to live here. You can’t bring any of your new friends here without explaining to them why you live in some fucked up occult library.”

“It can be troublesome. But this was my home. I’ll miss it,” that made something dry up in Dean’s chest, before Cas turned to him, “I already talked to Sam about the garden. He said he would take care of it. Or try to find homes for the plants if he can’t. Apparently there’s an app where people like to buy plants from each other.”

“Good to know. I’ll take care of it too.”

“That sounds nice. I always liked it when you came up there to sit with me. I think the plants will do better with both of you there.”

“I mean,” dammit, he had to turn away and blink back something in his eye while he pretended to examine the complete blankness of Cas’s wall, “They’re really going to miss you. You took really good care of them.”

“It’s very hard for me to part with them.”

Dean whipped his head back around to face him. Cas seemed closer than before. He could feel the mattress dip down under Cas’s hand next to his. He was speaking to Cas’s mouth.

“You can always visit them.”

“I intend to. Dean…”

A second that was stretched out like a rubber band before it snapped, and then Cas was leaning away again, and his voice wasn’t as soft as before.

“I’ll miss you. But it’s not too far of a drive. And I still want to help out here.”

“Yeah. I’ll miss you too, buddy. I’ll let you finish packing.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it turns out that writing scenes of sam and dean talking is extremely fun. i'd like to be hired to write on supernatural season 16 please. they'll fire me as soon as i suggest it'd be hot if dean admitted he's wrong and apologized for something


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2vfMs9J2cQ

_I thank a God I've never met_

_Never loved,_

_Never wanted_

_(For you.)_

_-_

Cas left. Dean pulled all the beer out of the fridge and put it in a cooler he’d dragged out of a closet. Sam watched him. When Dean was done he turned and held his arms out.

“Okay. How do you wanna do this? I want to go up to the roof so I don’t get claustrophobic. Also, lots of places to throw up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m guessing this is obvious to you by now but I’m not gonna handle this well. And you always say you want me to talk about my feelings, so this is me meeting you in the middle. I’m gonna get drunk but not alone in my room, and you can play the saddest, girliest music you can think of. And I’m going to try and knock out my moping depression period in one day instead of stretching it out for a few weeks, because every day I’m getting closer and closer to dying of old age,” Dean flashed a fake smile, “Sound good?”

“This still seems fucked up.”

“But less fucked up than usual, right?”

-

Dean was laying on the floor of the roof with his head on a dusty chair cushion. It was warm, too warm, but Sam had just dragged a beach umbrella over to him and the spots in his vision were going away. There was a very large bottle of water next to him that he drank from whenever Sam started glaring. There was a few empty beer cans and a half-full one next to his head that he would sit up and drink from when he felt like it.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Yes, Sammy?”

“Can I ask you something?”

If Sam wasn’t coming right out of the gate just asking whatever it was, that meant bad news. That meant truly beyond-the-pale not-even-little-brothers-have-a-free-pass kind of shrink shit. That meant some big bruise of his that everyone could see but he didn’t want anyone to touch. He kept his eyes closed and let his knuckles brush up against the condensation on the can.

“Sure, Sam.”

“Do you think Bobby and Rufus are a thing?”

“Huh?” Dean sat up.

Sam was sitting in a lawn chair he’d brought up, “I mean. Not anymore, they act like a couple that broke up. I just thought it seemed like they were close.”

Dean scratched his eyebrow, “That’s just how hunters are. You gotta be close because there isn’t anybody else.”

“Yeah. But it just seemed different.”

“Uh, okay. Glad you could get that off your chest.”

He started to lay back down before Sam’s voice took on that meandering tone that meant he knew he sounded full of shit but didn’t care, “And they were both really good hunters. And you know, pretty typically masculine, in the conventional mainstream sense. Except for the pedicures. And that photo of Rufus with the earring we found once–”

“Okay, Okay. I see what this is. Sam. I’m not–” he paused, the word catching in his throat like a rock, “I don’t. I’m not Bobby. I’m not Rufus. I’m not Cas. Okay?”

“Yeah, you’re Dean. I’m Sam. I’m not even talking about you, I’m talking about Bobby and Rufus. Is the sun getting to you?” 

Dean reached out for the beer can, “I’m about to smash this over your ankle like I’m christening the world’s most annoying boat.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know, we weren’t talking about Cas but you mentioned him. I’m really proud of him for doing all this. It’s not easy to admit you want to meet someone and put yourself out there, especially in a heteronormative culture.”

Dean was four beers in, he’d let the casual drop of _heteronormative_ pass. In fact he’d focus on it to avoid thinking about the rest of the conversation.

“And it’s better to do that kind of thing sooner than later, but there’s no wrong time to start. Even if it’s just admitting it to yourself.”

“Hm.”

“And hopefully it’s easier when you have people around you who support you and love you and wouldn’t treat you any differently.”

Dean scratched his stomach, “Yeah. Sounds nice.”

“And _maybe_ instead of resenting a friend for being able to take that step forward and put themselves out there, hypothetically someone could see it as inspiring and motivating for them to do the same thing. You know?”

Dean sat up. He scooched over to a big pot and put his back to it. He huddled around the beer can.

“Sam. I’ll say this.”

Sam sat in the chair and waited. Dean raised a single finger over his knee.

“I– I will get back to you. On this conversation.”

“Okay. Love you, Dean.”

“Okay. Love you too, Sam.”

And then Dean laid back down.

-

“I texted Charlie. Can she come over?”

“Yes! Yes. Charlie’s great. Oh, even if she likes Picard more than Kirk. Actually, yeah. Have her come over, I gotta bone to pick with her.”

Sam stopped typing and started over, _Actually maybe another night. I don’t think Dean is ready for more company right now_

_Got it. Step one. Talk to his brother. Step two. Talk to a real gay person who isn’t an angel he’s obsessed with_

“Damn. She’s busy tonight. But maybe tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. What’s Kevin up to?”

“Kevin is too young to drink and probably chilling with his mom and trying to take summer classes right now.”

“Jeez, we are old. Who do we know who’s our age and not like, boring.”

“Jo is on the other side of the country. Rowena–”

“Rowena is not coming over.”

“Eileen likes her. They get along weirdly well.”

“Sam. Sam, I’d rather talk about my unspeakable thing than talk about whatever you are implying, please.”

“You feeling okay? Need some more water? Some food?”

“You know, Cas bought these peach trees,” Dean grasped at the pot next to him without opening his eyes, “And he bought them tiny like, _oh I’ll be around to raise them for like the thousand years it will take for them to actually produce peaches_ and then he LEFT.”

Sam tossed a bag of chips at him, bowling over the empty beer cans with a series of tinny clanking, “Yeah. He’s gonna miss out.”

“Hell yeah, he’s gonna miss out! I mean, all of this?” Dean gestured to the garden, “He put all this together and now he’s just gonna leave it? For _Keith?”_

“Keith must make Cas pretty happy.”

“I bet Keith is a fucking dick.”

“Dean.”

“Harold– I like Harold. Dude knows Le Guin. But Keith– Get a fucking roof, Keith. Let your boyfriend drag all his plants over. What, he can’t even provide a roof? What does this guy do for a living?”

“Cas said he’s an environmental lawyer.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” Dean tongued something out of his molars, “That’s great. Good. Those guys are always so full of themselves, though, you know?”

Sam started counting empty cans; he’d already started discreetly hiding the fulls one behind a planter full of rosemary, “Yeah. If he’s a total d-bag then Cas will realize and dump him.”

“Yes!”

“And then Cas will be really sad about it.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Or at least until he moves on and meets another guy he really likes.”

Dean didn’t say anything but held his hands out as if he was offering himself. He really was drunk. He probably wouldn’t remember anything Sam said. Time to inch the pin out of this grenade a little bit more.

“You gotta let go of him, Dean.”

He folded his hands back to his chest, “I know. I know. I just gotta trip back into hell and have someone else pull me out. Probably shouldn’t stab them this time though.”

“Is that what you like about Cas? The savior thing?”

“No. No, I like the, the awkward and earnest accountant thing. I think that’s a Cas thing, not an angel thing. I like _him._ He’s a weird, serious dude and then he’ll care about the smallest, dumbest things. He wants to make people happy. He puts up with too much shit but, when he doesn’t... That intensity,” Dean’s eyebrows jumped, “ _That’s_ really sexy.”

Sam clutched the armrests of his chair, “... Are you fucking with me right now?”

Dean opened his eyes, more lucid than he would have guessed, and winked, “This is what you get for your beating around the bush schtick earlier.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has just been a process of me realizing i love sam and think he's the funniest winchester


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmeVwYojB-s

_I'd get it one piece at a time,_

_And it wouldn't cost me a dime._

_You'd know it's me when I come through your town._

_I'm going to ride around in style._

_I'm going to drive everybody wild._

-

He knew how to flirt with men. He knew, in any bar in any place, how to know when a man wanted a certain kind of attention. Hell, he’d made a game of it since he was young and John wasn’t around, letting it go as far it could in public, before he’d turn away back to the bar and take a drink, and say, “I gotta get home soon,” as coldly as possible. It was practice. Having a lot of random skills was important on the road and in the life, and who knew when he might one day have to go home with a guy? Not to do anything. Just to case a joint, to stake something out, to get information. Nothing real.

Actually going home with the guy– _That_ was the talent he’d never picked up.

-

He called up Bobby. Johnny Cash was playing on the CD player he’d found at a thrift store. Sam was out at a library. The phone rang a few times and he felt like a kid again, hoping that Bobby would pick up, that he would come get them, that he could wire some money or would know what to do. Bobby picked up.

“Hey, Dean. What’s going on?”

“N-nothing,” get it together, “I just wanted to call you. Everything’s fine. Cas moved out.”

“Oh. He gone off hunting?”

“No. He got a boyfriend,” this conversation was accelerating faster than he’d planned in his head.

“Oh. Well. Good for him. Remind him to put some sigils and wards up, it’s hard in an apartment but there are ways to do it without getting your ass handed to you by an eviction notice. Gonna lose a security deposit down the line though.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“... You actually calling me for the first time in your life to say hi or are you still waiting to tell me you’re in trouble? You know I don’t like anticipation.”

“Sam was talking about you and Rufus the other day. How is he?”

“He’s good. Actually, you’ll never guess. His daughter popped back up the other day.”

“What– Popped– His dead daughter? She just showed up?”

“Yeah. We did the full rundown. Actually called Cas about it for some help, he didn’t mention he’d moved– but she seems fine. Was wandering around for a month, had a shaky memory.”

“How? Why?”

“What, you and your brother are the only people who get to cheat death every few years? I just know Rufus is happy. They’ve been staying with me.”

“Oh,” damn, Sam was gonna go around saying shit like _I’m so happy for them_ while looking at Dean with a big I TOLD YOU SO on his face, “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s uh, it’s nice.”

“Bobby,” he really did sound like a little kid about to cry. 

“What?” and he could hear the way Bobby heard his shaky breathing too, was probably wheeling into a room away from Rufus or the miraculous daughter, “Dean, are you okay?”

“I went home with a guy last night.”

A silence like a bell tolling, and then, “Okay. You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You wanted to?”

That was almost harder to say, and he rubbed a hand over his face as his voice cracked, “Yeah. I did.”

“You had a good time?”

“Bobby–”

“I’m not asking for the gory details, boy. But you– he treat you right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was fine. I’m fine.”

Another silence, before, “You know. You already know how I feel about your dad and I don’t want to bring him into this conversation. So I won’t. I’ll just say I love you and your brother. And I’m real proud of you.”

Why was that the thing everyone said? Even he’d almost said it to Cas. _I’m proud of you._ Yeah, well, sometimes it would be nice to do something that didn’t feel so goddamn difficult and terrifying that when people found out they said _I’m proud of you._ Sometimes he wanted to do something easy. He wanted this to be easier instead of feeling like his ribs were gonna crack open as soon as he hung up.

“Thanks, Bobby. We love you too.”

“You can talk to me any time. I–” Bobby sighed, “Well. I know what you’re feeling. I loved Karen. But life is pretty long. It wasn’t just her and only her forever. I don’t think I need to list names or notches for you, I’m sure you know what I’m saying. And it’s like having your guts ripped up because you feel like you’re looking over your shoulder constantly for the big bad preacher or your daddy or someone with a chip on their shoulder or yourself. You probably have a whole of voices in your head with a lot of nasty things to say. But it really is worth it. And I know this is trademarked or whatever but– It _does_ get easier. And sooner than you think you start to feel good about it all the time instead of just some of the time.”

“Thanks,” he couldn’t say any more.

“Now. We got that outta the way. When are you and your brother gonna come visit me?”

“Ah, I gotta go, Bobby–”

“You rat–”

“Bye, dad,” and Dean hung up, smiling and still breathing funny, knowing Bobby was probably tearing up and swearing at him under his breath.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love bobby. the cadillac in 'one piece at a time' is actually a metaphor for accumulating confidence and a sense of pieced together identity as best as one can under capitalism. when i started writing this i did not realize at the time that i would eventually, obviously, have to write a sincere unpacking of dean's whole fucking deal


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kz38Vxkyow4

_It's just the way life changes, like the shoreline and the sea–_

_But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie._

_Your eyes are soft with sorrow,_

_Hey, that's no way to say goodbye._

_-_

Cas kept his journal in the little dresser they’d lugged up the stairs to the bedroom of the duplex. Sometimes Keith saw him write in it, and smiled fondly but didn’t pry or ask what he was writing about. Cas liked that about Keith. His writing was fairly neat throughout it as he flipped the pages backwards.

_Harold said he’d introduce me to some friends of his. I’m guessing they’re nice. He’s nice. We slept together a few more times but mostly we like talking. It’s nice._

His vocabulary left something to be desired. There were the first mentions of Keith, how he was very gentle and forgiving, almost timid but very confident without being aggressive, how he found Cas funny and interesting. 

_Dean was showing me how to change the oil in my truck. And what to do if there’s a flat tire. I miss being able to fix things instantly. Dean has a cut on his arm from a piece of scrap metal that he passed by. It’s a very small cut. It doesn’t bother him. We haven’t done any hunts in awhile. But I still keep wanting to reach out and heal it._

_I ended up telling Harold’s friends a little bit about Dean. I don’t think I can ever let them meet now. I didn’t tell them as much as I told Harold, but apparently they were not surprised. I am now one of many gay men ‘hung up’ on a straight man. I am part of many people who are in love with their best friend. I told them he told me I’m like a brother to him and they all groaned and sighed and made a show of it. It made me laugh. I’m apparently very normal for once._

_Sam took me to a park in the middle of town before we got lunch. There were a lot of dogs. I like beagles, I think. But I don’t think I’d be good at taking care of a dog. He kept smiling at his phone. I asked and he said it’s Eileen. I hope she comes by the bunker eventually to visit. I think it would make Sam very happy. I want Sam to meet Harold eventually. I think most of his friends are online. I think they’d be good friends._

_Dean and I went on a walk because we both couldn’t focus. It was late in the day but not quite night. The moon was very big over the fields. It’s beautiful here. Everywhere I’ve been has been beautiful at this time of day, but here it’s very startling how easy the world paints itself over and over again. Earth’s not like heaven or even the ideas of paradise on earth. It’s a place and it’s this way because it is, not because someone told it to be. I went to a meeting in town about environmental activism. There were nice people there. Dean and I didn’t speak much on the walk. I like how aware of him I am when he’s next to me. I could know he was standing by me even in the abyss. I like being friends with him. I don’t need anything else. But there’s still this constant feeling of what if I reached for him and he didn’t pull away, or what if I said something and we were more than friends. And I wish it would stop. I’m happy enough._

_I visited Claire at Jody’s. It was nice to see her again. She seems very happy, and less intent on hunting than before. I think having a family and a home helps. It gives you something to hold onto. I told her that I am trying to date. I told her I am seeing a nice man named Keith. She gave me a look like I was being very strange and said she thought I was too old for that. She gave me a hug when I left._

_I finally told Sam and Dean I’m leaving. Dean did not take it very well. He seems to think I’m not ready. I think he thinks I don’t understand what I’m doing. But I do. I need to live somewhere else for awhile. I think I need some space or I’m never going to get over it. I told Harold and he agreed, but said I shouldn’t use Keith as an experiment. He’s right. But I think I do love Keith. There’s no reason I shouldn’t._

_Dean came by. He apologized. I almost told him. I almost_ and he had stopped writing for a moment and written something different than what he’d meant to, afraid to keep it here even in this journal, _told him. It’s good that I’m moving out._

Some more pages. More about Keith. More about Harold’s friend Renee who Cas liked because she had a cat and a loved to sit at a table by her living room window and gossip and drink tea and talk about astrology. More about Harold meeting a man named Darren and confessing to Cas in a giddy, fast voice he’d never heard Harold use before how sweet Darren was, how funny he was. Keith wanting to meet Cas’s family. Cas saying that they mostly lived very far away, or he didn’t talk to them anymore. Cas going back to the bunker to visit Sam and Dean and help answer phones and organize notes and write down all the things he knew as an angel that he didn’t want to forget. The properties of the Sail of Gilgamesh. The Belt of Gawain. The way the light in the desert fell on the temples and river, how the colors were the exact same but different than they were today. The children had laughed the same while running in the street. The way the clothes looked. The first time someone cooked a certain food, the first time someone ate it.

Sometimes he’d go to his old room in the bunker and sit down. Nobody had touched anything he’d left behind. The little figurine of John Constantine that Dean had bought him with delight (“He looks like you! Right? It’s like a little you.”) was still there on the desk. 

_I went to go look at the plants. Sam’s been doing a good job. Dean came up to the roof too. We sat up there and just drank beer and talked about some old show called I Love Lucy. Old is a funny word to use. It’s not even 100 years old, but that’s how I think about things now. He asked if he could meet Harold and I said yes but I have to talk to Harold first. We started talking about music. He played me a song. Said it’s a cover of another song, by– Oh, I forgot. It’s by the “Killing Me Softly” woman. She sang that song. I just looked it up. Roberta Flack. It was a very beautiful, sad song. I told him and thanked him for playing it for me. He got up and said he had to make dinner._

_I wish I could do as I am told. I wish I could love the person who loves me. I wish I got what I wanted. I wish I could love the person who I’m in love with. I wish he’d be loved by someone, anyone. But I know I want it to be me. I know I’d gnash my teeth and have a storm over my head and curl up in my room and hope for rain if it wasn’t me. I wish I was a better friend. I wish I was a better boyfriend._

_I broke up with Keith. I told him that I don’t think I love him as much as I should. He was upset. We had a fight. Then we sat on the couch together and I told him I want him to be happy. And I think we’d both regret staying together when we could be with people who do make us happy. He asked if there was someone and I said no. I said there is nobody out there waiting to make me happy. But I have to keep trying to find someone and meet them someday. He let me sleep on the couch. Renee says I can live with her for a little bit._

_-_

“Cas?”

“Dean?” He'd unmuted his phone for once, thankfully. It was 2 am. He was sleeping on the pullout couch in Renee’s living room. 

“Cas, Sam’s hurt. I– I’m at the hospital.”

He was already getting up as soon as he’d heard Dean’s voice and the fear in it, and he was walking towards the door, putting on his coat, “I’m on my way.”

“The hospital in town. He’s stable. I just. Could you come here?”

“I’m already leaving, Dean.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll see you there,” and he hung up, and then remembered he was supposed to say bye.

-

Dean met him down in the waiting room, since Cas was not legally related to Sam.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean pulled him into a hug.

“Hello, Dean.”

They pulled apart, “Here, let me get you some shitty coffee. On me.”

Sam had been in a car accident. Nothing demonic, nothing monstrous, nothing occultish. Someone had been very tired while driving down the highway in the oncoming lane and drifted over far enough to clip the Impala, and sent it spinning off the road and it had flipped. The other driver had been hysteric with guilt and fear and pulled over immediately and called 911. The hospital had called Dean. Dean had called Cas.

“How is he now?”

“He was awake but they gave him a bunch of painkillers. He’s all busted up. He was trying to joke about it because he saw what a wreck I am and apologized for crashing the car. He passed out but the nurses said that’s fine. After everything, man. It never gets easier, seeing him beaten up like that. The nicest kid and he never stops getting hurt,” Dean put his head in his hands, and Cas pressed his fingers together to keep from reaching across the table, “I thought we were done with stuff like this. I thought the hard part was over.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

And Dean didn’t respond or pull his hand away from his face but reached out his other hand, palm up. Cas tentatively put his own hand on it, and Dean squeezed it tight. Cas wanted nothing more in the world than to be a miracle or a guardian angel or a blanket instead of a normal man who didn’t know what to do.

“I wish I could make this easier, Dean.”

The hand dropped from the face, and Dean smoothed back his hair to try and hide for a few seconds longer the fact that he’d been crying. He sniffed. He was still holding Cas’s hand on the cheap plastic table.

“I know you do. You are. I needed you here and you came. That’s all you gotta do.”

“The car–”

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow. I took a cab here.”

He knew that Dean would want to stay the night, and that Cas would not be allowed to, “I can pick you up in the morning.”

“Thanks. I–” Dean stared at their hands on the table, “I’m glad you’re here. Um. Tell Keith I’m sorry, if he got woken up.”

“I don’t live with Keith anymore.”

“What?”

“I broke up with him. I’m living with my friend Renee. You’d like her,” Cas imagined Renee telling Dean he had negative energy, “I don’t know if she’d like you.”

Dean looked blankly, still at their hands, and then laughed shakily, “You old heartbreaker. Okay. Tell Renee I’m sorry then.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get fucking wrecked, keith, a character i created for my own narrative convenience


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Puh5sOCbjdw

_And tell me why,_

_Why won’t you love me_

_For who I am where I am?_

_He said, “Cause that’s not the way the world is, baby._

_This is how I love you, baby.”_

_-_

A few weeks later. Cas was still living with Renee, who was delighted at the company. He’d told Sam that he was dating new people. He did not tell Sam that whenever it felt too serious he would stop responding. He stopped dating as much. He went to bars, the older and quieter kind, and found men there who didn’t want a relationship either. He went to his job at the FedEx. He went to the bunker. He was starting to understand why Claire thought he might be too old to do this kind of thing.

-

“Harold!” Dean threw his arms out and Harold, who was looking at him with pleased shock, went to hug him. Sam looked at Cas over Dean’s shoulder and saw he wasn’t the only one unsettled. 

“Dean. It’s good to finally meet you. Cas tells me a lot about you and Sam.”

“Well, he kept us hidden long enough. He told me you like reading.”

“He told me you're his personal library.”

Cas put a hand on Harold’s shoulder, “Let’s go get a table. Charlie said she’d be here soon.”

It was a fairly empty diner. The Dutch pancakes were pretty good though, and served all-day.

“Cas says you’ve never seen Star Trek.”

“I’ve only seen the movie with the worm,” Dean’s nose twitched but he kept smiling pleasantly, “And Shatner yelled in it.”

Without looking from the menu, Sam put a hand on Dean’s arm to keep him from lifting his hands in the air and yelling his best Kirk impression for the room. Dean swallowed, nodded, and folded his hands together politely.

“I recommend DS9. Intellectuals like it. And my uncle Bobby.”

“Oh, Bobby, Cas mentioned a Bobby once.”

“He’s this curmudgeonly old bastard. He lives up in South Dakota, he’s basically me and Sam’s dad.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not gonna lie and say Cas didn’t mention you had an interesting family life.”

“Yeah,” Dean slid Cas a narrow glance across the table, but didn’t stop smiling, “It’s pretty much his family too. Not a lot of things make sense about us until you hear about me and Sam’s real dad.”

Sam watched in increasingly relaxed surprise as Dean and Harold got along. Cas seemed similarly euphoric that nothing bad was happening. Charlie showed up and scooted next to Dean and Sam, and leaned over the cups of coffee and tea to shake hands with Harold.

Everything was going pretty well. The food was more home-cooked than greasy. It didn't get too crowded. And then Charlie had turned to Dean, quietly enough to not interrupt the conversation Sam and Harold were having about smoothies, and said:

“Hey, what happened to that guy you texted me about? With the flat butt.”

A car either screeched to a halt outside or inside Sam’s head. Dean tilted his head and blinked in classic bad-poker-face.

“What guy?”

“The guy! From the other night. Maybe it was last week–”

“Oh. Yeah. That guy. It uh, all worked out. He got what he needed.”

Charlie elbowed him, oblivious to the rest of the table. Cas was staring at Dean like he could have microwaved him with eye contact alone. Harold was holding an empty sugar pack over his tea and hadn’t put it down. Sam was debating whether running to the bathroom would be too selfish.

“Oh, I’m sure he got what he ‘needed.’ The old Winchester special. You’ve been really putting me to shame, dude. I gotta step up my game.”

Sam made an effort, “Is this Paul Simon playing? I never hear them play this song on the radio–”

“What the hell are either of you talking about?” Cas said this very calmly, which was more frightening than if he’d sounded bitter or snarky or even a little bit like he might storm out.

Sam could tell Harold really was good friends with Cas, because Harold looked as alarmed as he did to hear that tone of voice. They both looked towards each other, as if either one would have advice for what to do in a situation like this. Sam just shook his head. Harold nodded. They were as resigned as two sailors about to crash into the rocks.

Dean scratched the hair behind his ear and looked up towards the ceiling, which in some people might have seemed like he was looking up towards God for help but in Dean was only a bad tell since childhood, “Well, I uh. I have to make up a lot of lost ground with you, Charlie. I just started hooking up with dudes a few months ago.”

Charlie’s face flashed in sudden horror as she understood and she put her forehead in her hand, “Oh fuck. I’m the worst.”

Harold was saying very gently, “You’re seeing men–” just as Cas said icily, “You’re seeing MEN?”

“Yes. Uh. Actually, you know, you kind of inspired me. To try it out.”

Charlie, “Dean, I’m sorry, I thought since Sam knew– God, I outed you at lunch–”

“It’s okay, I mean, at least we know they’re not homophobic–”

“How long have you been interested in men?”

“Well, CAS, I didn’t expect to have this conversation today and I’d prefer we do it some other time in private or never maybe–”

“What do you mean ‘try it out’? What are you ‘trying’ to do?”

“‘Oh, that’s nice that you found me inspiring, Dean, I’m glad you’re also on this path to knowing yourself or whatever, Dean,’ is that what you said, Cas? Or do you mean to sound pissed off for no reason right now?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna move in with a dude until you were already packing your shit to go!”

Harold put his hand up to signal the check to an already concerned looking waitress.

-

Sam, Charlie, and Harold leaned against Charlie’s Prius and watched Cas and Dean argue at Cas’s truck.

Charlie, “You think if we leave that Cas will give him a ride home or ditch him here?”

Sam, “Honestly, knowing Cas… It could go either way. But I don’t want to be in a car with them.”

Harold, “I’d offer Dean a ride but Cas knows where I live. I think we gotta call this one and get the hell out of the blast zone.”

“Agreed.”

Charlie, “Fuck. Whoops.”

Sam, “Charlie, honestly. It had to happen sometime.”

Him and Harold made eye contact as Sam got into Charlie's car. It was all that needed to be said.

-

Harold called him later that night.

“You home?”

Cas threw his coat at a chair, “Yes.”

“You in a bad mood?”

“No.”

“Yeah, don’t know why I asked, you sound full of sunshine. Did Dean get home or did you peel away and leave him standing in the street?”

“No. I drove him. We argued some more.”

“And then you killed him and threw his body on the side of the highway?”

“We agreed that we both want to know what’s going on in the other person’s life and don’t understand why we wouldn’t tell each other important things, and we still always do this. And that it hurts when we keep secrets.”

“So you told him you’re in love with him?”

Cas thought about throwing the shoe in his hand at the wall, but it was Renee’s wall and it was painted a nice burgundy color, “No.”

“Okay. Fair enough. You still mad?”

Cas sat down on the couch. Renee was at work at the pet store.

“Yes.”

“Want to come over?”

“I’m sorry. I was happy you two liked each other.”

“I like Dean more than I thought I would. I was kind of hoping he was an asshole and I could tell you I don’t see it.”

“And?”

“He’s an asshole. But I get why you like him.”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m not the only one who does.”

“Come over before you start tearing apart throw pillows with your teeth, you sound like you’re either gonna key his car or cry watching Paddington 2.”

“That little bear’s family–”

“Cas. Tell me when you get here.”

“Okay.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm turning into someone who loves writing petty arguments after reveals of devastating information in public


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Al8UHnjusq0

_Jesus freaks out in the street,_

_Handing tickets out for God._

_Turning back, she just laughs,_

_“The boulevard is not that bad.”_

-

To celebrate finally fixing up the Impala, they were going to drive up and see Bobby. 

“I told Cas,” Dean was wiping his hands with a dish towel in the kitchen while the oven hummed, “Figured we could all go visit Claire while we’re up there.”

“Oh,” Sam raised his eyebrows, “Is he taking the truck?”

“No,” Dean made a face like that was ridiculous, “Why would he? We got room. We’ve driven longer distances together. Save some gas. The environment, Sam.”

“And you two are gonna be okay trapped in a car together for that long.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“The wait staff at _Pete’s Cafe_ would be shocked, is all I’m saying.”

“Okay, yeah, we had a fight. Whatever. That was a week ago, we both agreed it was dumb. We’re cool now. C’mon, old time’s sake.”

Sam stared at the fridge. How bad could it be?

-

They had a late start and didn’t leave until 6 pm. Never a good omen. Dean was too cheerful. Cas had the patient and pleased air of someone with matches in their pocket who didn’t smoke. They made it three hours with the occasional bored road trip game and fiddling over the radio before a particularly long and sleepy silence was broken by:

“Are you going to go to any bars while we’re there, Dean?”

The sigh of someone who knew exactly what Cas wanted and would probably fail at avoiding it, but not for lack of trying, “No, Cas. I’m probably going to stay at Rufus and Bobby’s. Also we’re not gonna get there until 10 pm.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you’d be bored of the options in Kansas.”

Sam glanced to the passenger side. Dean’s jaw was tight. He was looking dead ahead like the road was the kind of enemy who he’d kill without remorse. But he didn’t say anything. Cas continued baiting the lion’s den cheerfully from the backseat.

“No. I’m happy for you, really. Let me know if you want to meet any of Harold’s friends, I can give you some recommendations.”

Dean’s lip curled. Sam was gonna kill Cas if Dean didn’t first. He wasn’t against whatever the hell had to be played out here, but he didn’t sign up to be trapped in a car when it happened. Cas looked idly out the window as if any of the scenery had changed in the last twenty minutes.

“You know. It’s kind of funny, but I used to have feelings for you.”

Everyone continued staring blithely at the darkness outside. The only change was that everyone’s jaws were a little more clenched. Sam’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. Cas sighed a wistful little laugh in the rear view mirror.

“I know. It seems ridiculous now that I say it out loud.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s mouth twisted in what might have been a grin, “You know I used to think you were cute. That’s pretty funny.”

“Yes. Can you imagine? It would have been awful.”

Sam did not close his eyes and count to ten only because he was driving, but he could feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck. It had to happen now? Here? After everything? After all the teeth-pulling and personal growth? In the middle of nowhere on a highway at 9 pm trapped in the car? There was a horrible pre-storm silence and then Dean said very lightly:

“What exactly would have been so awful about it?”

“Well, I mean, first of all, you’re emotionally withholding–”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

Sam thought he saw a sign for a turn off but it was another goddamn call box. C’mon, an Arby’s, a Culver’s, a Sonic, anything. A parking lot. A serial killer’s driveway, anything that he could park in and walk away from. He reached out his hand to the volume knob to turn up _Tiny Dancer_ and saw he was shaking, before Dean fucking eagle-eyed him and pushed his hand down.

“Hold on, Sam, I wanna hear this. What do you mean I’m emotionally withholding?”

“I mean your instinct is to get mad at everything when you’re nervous. Case in point.”

“That’s not– Well, you’re short!”

The energy from the backseat went from smug to sinister. If this was how they all died again this year, Sam was gonna be so pissed.

“Very erudite, Dean.”

“Hey, man, fuck you. I know you only use those words when you want to pretend you’re too smart for us primates. I read, you know? I know what erudite means. Maybe if you weren’t God’s cattiest little angel–”

“What, you would have put your repression on hold long enough to fuck me? How gracious.”

A beacon of hope that almost made Sam gasp; an exit for a gas station. The windows of the little mart were still lit. There was something like a hotel or restaurant behind it, but the most important thing was that there was a spacious parking lot. His eyes darted to Dean’s hand to make sure he wasn’t about to pull the passenger door handle and dive out of the moving car.

“Fu– I– Maybe if you could pull your head out of your high-horse’s ass every once and awhile and just _say_ you wanted something from me instead of always pretending you’re too good to want anything for yourself and then getting pissy when nobody gives it to you–”

“Oh, and what, you would have handled that appropriately? ‘Hi, Dean, I know even the slightest risk of sincerity sends you running for a six-pack and a pornographic film unless I’m literally dying in your arms, but can I kiss you?’ That would have been fine?”

Sam swung the car into the parking lot and managed to nick the curb, and his eyes went wide when Dean didn’t even put the current nightmare on pause to give him shit for it. Dean’s head was still whipped around to glare at Castiel who was sulking dangerously in the backseat like a coiled rattlesnake. 

“Hey, man, you can’t get mad at me for hypotheticals when you didn’t even TRY–”

“A wise man in the Bible once said it’s not cowardice to avoid sticking your hand in a wasp’s nest, it’s sanity–”

“Oh, you know what? You are so full of bull, that’s not in the Bible–”

Sam barely had the car in park, crookedly in two spaces, before he was trying to fling himself into the night. The seatbelt caught him across the chest and he unbuckled it without looking before tumbling out. The keys were still in the ignition. 

“Hey, Sam–”

“I need to get coffee, DO NOT take this inside the gas station or I will pretend I don’t know either of you and leave you here. I will be gone for thirty minutes or more if I feel like it.”

“C’mon, Sam–”

“See if I’m joking, Dean,” he closed the door.

-

Dean watched him walk away, “What’s up with him?”

Somewhat calmly, maybe feeling guilty after Sam’s exit, “I think he’s trying to give us privacy.”

“Privacy? For what?” 

Calmness gone right out the window, “Because we’re having a fight, Dean!”

Dean wrinkled his nose and tapped his fingers on the dash, looking out at the parking lot, “I’m not having a fight. You wanna have a fight go pick one with somebody else.”

“No. I want to talk about this. You’re right, maybe I should say what I want more. Here it is. This is me wanting.”

Dean’s fingers folded back into a fist. He inhaled. Exhaled. Loosened hand. There was the ghost of the desire to push open the door and get to an alley, a bathroom, anywhere where nobody could see him, but he felt too old for it now. He was trying to change. He imagined the younger version of himself leaving this car, could imagine watching him walk towards the gas station, the silhouette of him getting smaller and smaller.

“Okay. Alright. You want to talk,” he licked his lips, trying to sound serious instead of patronizing, “Where do you want to start?”

The sound of cloth shushing against the seats as Cas moved in the backseat, to sit diagonally and in better view even though Dean couldn’t bear to look away from the window, tone too soft to look at now, “Can I ask? What you would have done?”

“Done if what?”

“If I had asked you if I could kiss you.”

That earned a sharp inhale. Cas sounded so quiet and sad. Dean tried to picture it. How much younger were they talking? Shit, in his 20’s it would have been a hard laugh and a mean glance, some mocking, a lot of distancing. He could imagine Sam saying _maybe Cas would know_ and he’d say something like _oh yeah, me and him don’t talk much anymore._

“Dean,” pleading.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I’m thinking, really,” in his early 30’s, when he actually knew Cas, well, that would have been maybe a hard clap on the shoulder, a sigh, a nod, a _No, but if you wanna kiss, we drove by a neon sign on the way in where I’m sure we could get you something similar–_

“I don’t think I would have been honest.”

‘Okay.’

“I’m sorry. I know I’m… I just don’t always know what to do. And you’re right. Sometimes it’s easier to storm out.”

“I’m sorry too. I was… I was trying to pick a fight with you. I think sometimes I’m afraid to say what I want to talk to you about, and instead I try to bait you into getting upset because I feel like that’s… You say more sometimes. But that’s not right.”

“I get it. I’d be a little nervous trying to talk to me too. I know what emotionally withholding means and– well. Yeah. Bullseye, with that one.’

“I do like it though. When we can just talk. You seem happier when we do.”

“Yeah. I like it too. I hope I’m getting better at it,” he scratched his nose, “It’s okay for you to want things, Cas.”

“I know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t before.”

Dean stopped himself from saying _I’m not uncomfortable_ because nothing about his current body language suggested he wasn’t, and it was maybe not the time to lie. His hand went flat on the dash, not tapping or clenched but just resting, his heartbeat in the pads of his fingertips.

“All this stuff you’ve been doing the past year, Cas… I don’t know if this is fair of me to say, or compare us, but it felt like you were at the starting line of something new and good and I was about five miles behind it. I had a lot of stuff to work through. Stuff that I didn’t want you to be anxious about. Just worry about being happy, Cas. Don’t worry about me.”

A huff, and he finally turned to see Cas grinning down at his hands in his lap. Cas noticed him and looked up, still smiling if a little worn down.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m always going to worry about you, Dean.”

“Yeah,” his mouth was dry, “I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be.”

“No, really, Cas. I worry about you too. You know that. Of course you know that. Everyone knows that. And you– I’m glad that, you know. You’re happier now. You’re my best friend. You and Sam– you’re important to me. I want you to be happy. It’s my fault if I don’t always give you the impression, but I do.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“I’m a big mess. It is kind of funny to think about,” Dean swallowed a forced laugh, “It’s good we didn’t end up together. I would have driven you crazy.”

A slight intake of breath behind him, and then silence. Elton John continued as they waited for Sam to get back. Castiel’s voice sounded close to normal now.

“I forgot how long songs are allowed to be.”

Dean laughed without thinking too hard about it.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again. i just want to write arguments. I'M god's cattiest angel. fuck me running sideways down the end field this got long


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEcFDMcvMsw

_And in July a lemonade to cool you in some leafy glade._

_I wish you health, oh, and more than wealth– I wish you love._

_My breaking heart and I agree that you and I will never be,_

_So with my best, my very best, I am setting you free._

_-_

_Dean and I got into a fight on the way to South Dakota. I picked the fight. I feel very bad for Sam. I think Dean might_

_It was nice to see Claire and Bobby and everyone again. They’re all a stitched together family. They’re all trying so hard to have a life with each other. I love them all very much._

-

Dean threw his car keys in the little bowl on the table. It was 11 pm. Sam was probably already in bed, or doing stretches and listening to a podcast or something in his room before going to bed. Dean had bowed out to his most recent fling and said he had work early in the morning. He yawned. 

It had been fine. It was always fine. Pretty good, decent, fun, whatever. 

-

_Harold invited me out with him and Darren tonight. I think he was trying to be kind. I said no. I’m very tired. I think I’m fine just staying inside for awhile._

_-_

Sam had gone to visit Eileen. Dean could feel their plans coming together like roots under his feet, and whenever Sam tried to hide how excited he was, Dean just smiled until he left the room. _I’m happy for him, I’m happy for you, I’m happy for them._ That was another one of those phrases that kept popping up. _Oh boohoo, poor me. As if I didn’t pick out a life like this out of a line-up when I was twenty-seven. Hell, I picked out a lot worse than I got._

He hadn’t begged Cas to come back after Keith. What if he just left again? And Renee seemed funny. They got along. She got Cas, and so did Harold, and so did all the weirdos he and Sam were introduced to.

It was 4 pm. He was bored out of his mind. His phone was on the counter. He scrolled recent calls and hit the button before tucking it between his cheek and shoulder while he scrubbed a pan.

“Dean?”

“Cas. You wanna come over for dinner? Sam’s gone and I’m losing my mind over here.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, man, it’s real serious. I can already feel myself about to browse the pet shelter website.”

“There’s a really large cat named Chess on it right now. He’s black with a white stomach.”

Dean had to grin before he could talk, “Come on. Always come when I call, right? Let me cook you dinner.”

There was a pause on the other end while something in Dean’s stomach inverted, and then, “Okay.”

“Great.”

“Cheeseburgers?”

Dean recoiled melodramatically to an audience of zero, “Man, how can you still eat those? They knock me out now.”

“Or not.”

“I got turkey burgers.”

In the most solemn, gravelly voice, “... Is this really Dean Winchester?”

“Haha. They’ll be great, really. And if not, just be nice to me.”

“Okay. See you soon, Dean.”

“See ya, Cas.”

-

Dinner was nice. Dean asked about Renee’s new girlfriend, and Darren, and if Harold was still gonna lend him his copies of all of Shakespeare’s Henry plays. Cas asked about Jo and Bobby, and noticed that Dean had used tomatoes from the garden (“How can you tell?” “I just can.” “Sure.”). Cas helped him clean the dishes, standing next to him at the sink and letting their elbows brush, and they talked about _Holes_ and how Cas hoped Claire liked it even if she was too old for it by now.

“You want me to play some music?”

“Yes. I would like that.”

“Here, wait, I’ll get the rest of this later. I wanna show you something.”

Dean brought him to the living room and pulled out a very worn out cardboard box full of lesser or equally worn down cardboard envelopes.

“You would not believe how cheap this was at the thrift store. And it’s not all just Christmas music and Hungarian ballet, there’s some real classics in here. Like, uh, you like Sam Cooke, right?”

Cas kneeled next to him on the floor, “I do.”

Dean pulled out a faded purple album that Cas recognized from the internet, “ _Mr. Soul_. Hiding for three dollars between “Here Comes Santa Claus” and Chopin.”

“Can we play it?”

“Yeah, we can play it. Hey, can you get my drink from the kitchen?”

Dean was fiddling with the record table when Cas got back. He stood there holding both their whiskeys while the music started in the living room full of dark wood and antique furniture. They didn’t use this room as much. He’d never noticed how easily it could lean between sinister and cozy, the lair of an evil millionaire from a spy movie or a home that was, surprisingly, once his. 

Dean put his hands on his hips to appreciate his handiwork, and turned to see Cas holding the drinks and waiting.

“Here, you can put those down on the table.”

This left Cas standing and waiting, not for anything in particular. Dean’s hands were still on his hips. They both looked towards the record player for advice. 

“I miss dancing,” he sighed before he could stop himself.

Dean fixed him with a stare, “You wanna dance?”

“To this?”

“You hear other music? I mean, you don’t have to–”

“No. I’d like to. It’d make me very happy to dance with you.”

Dean swallowed and looked at the floor and nodded his head over and over again, “Well, that decides it.”

Cas was afraid to lift his feet off the floor as he stepped forward. Even when they were in arm’s reach of each other, Dean’s hand still stayed bent at his sides, and Cas stepped a little closer. Dean’s hand shook when it touched his shoulder. Cas smiled, surprised that it was natural to put his hand on Dean’s waist. Dean’s other hand was sweaty in his.

“Dean. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Of course,” but he kept looking at Cas’s shoes.

They drifted for a few steps before the song ended, and Cas tried not to let the disappointment show so deeply as Dean pulled his hands away, “Damn. Short song.”

“We could still dance to the next one.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Cas was starting to see the order of the night, and it was with a heady confidence he couldn’t examine too closely or at all that he put his hand back on Dean’s waist and stepped closer. When Dean still wouldn’t look up, Cas bent his head and murmured.

“Dean,” he smiled when Dean looked up with wide eyes, “This was a very good purchase.”

Dean beamed. Cas could imagine he would have scratched the back of his neck if his hands weren’t already busy. He didn’t look away.

“We’re only two songs in.”

“They’re already worth it.”

Dean laughed, and Cas just let himself enjoy it rather than lean forward and lose sight of it. 

“Are there any other good albums?”

“Oh, there’s some Aretha, obviously, I feel like that’s the typical jackpot in these boxes. Jim Croce. I thought there was a Simon and Garfunkel one but it’s a bunch of like, weird covers. _Guys and Dolls.”_

“No _Fiddler?”_

“No _Fiddler._ We must have the worst luck.”

Cas felt so fortunate at the moment that he couldn’t even laugh at that, “I can’t believe how old these are.”

“Yeah. If they still work, it’s okay if the envelope is kind of banged up.”

“It’s good. They’re good things to pass on. I’d hate to see them get thrown out.”

Dean was blushing, “Wait till you see the aerobics workout mix in there. You’ll change your mind. Hey, uh, did you like dinner?”

“I did. I still like a normal cheeseburger, but I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out for two hours and wake up in a fever.”

“Just wait until Sam finally guilts me into getting the vegan stuff. You won’t get lethargic but you’ll fart like hell,” and then Dean flinched at his own decorum until Cas laughed.

“He’s already talked to me. Beef is very bad for the environment.”

“I bet. Guess we gotta help solve global warming now.”

“What’s the gas mileage on the Impala?”

“Not tonight, not tonight.”

“Okay,” and he waited for Dean to let his guard down before saying, “Tomorrow.”

Dean groaned theatrically but it turned into another laugh.

They danced through the rest of the album, and every time Dean murmured or looked at Cas’s mouth or laughed, he felt like he was going to turn back into an angel or at least a comet. When Dean spun him and had to catch him by the small of his back as Cas tripped over a lamp cord, Cas thought he was going to die. Which would have been a shame, because he was biding his time for something that suddenly felt as inevitable as the end of the world used to feel.

The music stopped. Dean’s catch had turned into a sort of accidental dip, and he pulled Cas back up with one hand on his shoulder blade and the other on his waist, moving up to thumb at his ribs through the dress shirt.

“Dean.”

“You gotta give me a minute, Cas.”

“I’ve given you a lot of minutes.”

“I know. I know, just give me a little more time. Don’t go anywhere. Any second now.” 

Dean sounded breathless. He kept looking around Cas’s face as if was trying to find his eyes and kept missing them. Cas lifted his hands and cradled Dean by the jaw; his eyes froze, trembling, afraid of getting caught. Cas kept his voice soft.

“Dean. I’m right here.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not gonna stand here all night.”

Dean pulled him in and kissed him. It was different than kissing Harold, kissing Meg, kissing the most attractive stranger he’d ever met outside a bar one night in December, kissing Keith. His hands combed through the back of Dean’s hair like he was clinging to him. He pulled away, practically about to fall over. His head was likely in flames. He was pretty sure he could run ten miles and also couldn’t make it ten steps. If there was a thought in his head it was getting sucked into a black hole where his brain used to be. If the feeling called itself happiness, he wouldn’t recognize it like this.

“Dean.”

“I know, I know–”

“Bed.”

“What, you don’t want to do it on the rug by the fireplace?”

Whatever piece of mind Cas had left was used to level Dean with a stare, “I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to get back up.”

“Was that an old man joke?”

“C’mon, Father Time. Take me to bed.”

“You fucker–” Dean, a human, a mortal being whose existence was a flash in the pan already half burnt, had the audacity to grab Castiel, the former Angel of Thursday, by the love handles and make him laugh (“Don’t! I’m ticklish.”) as he pushed him out of the room and into the hall.

_-_

Dean woke up earlier than Cas. There was no morning light through a window, but the clock on his bedside table said 5 am. He disentangled himself from the clinging arms, and shushed and soothed Cas’s semi-conscious murmurs.

“Dean. Don’t go.”

“I gotta piss.”

“Hm,” and Cas had inhaled sharply and then relaxed and rolled over.

Dean watched him until he was sure he was asleep again. His heart was racing. He grabbed his phone out of his jeans and put on his underwear and snuck into the bathroom, leaving the lights off.

_Sam I slept with Cas_

He sent it before he could overthink it. Sam, reliably healthy as ever, texted back.

_Great go back to bed_

_SAM_

_WHAT_

_WHAT DO I DO_

_GO BACK TO BED STOP YELLING AT ME_

_Why the hell are you awake right now_

_Bc my dumbass brother texted me and i don’t put my phone on silent. Are you dying. I’m trying to actually enjoy the fact i slept with someone I love last night instead of having a panic attack about it_

_Horrible brother_

_Whatever, good morning, call me if youre dying_

He ran his hands through his hair. Fuck. Okay. Option 2.

_Charlie I slept with Cas_

Charlie, who was probably still asleep, did not respond. 

_-_

Cas woke up alone. There was light under the door to the hallway. The clock said 8 am. It was Dean’s room, and he leaned over to fuss with the lamp until he found the switch. 

Ridiculous posters. There was a suggestive one of Burt Reynolds that looked new, and might have been both a joke and deadly serious. _Escape From LA,_ a man with a mullet and an eyepatch. Some books on the desk. He recognized _The Left Hand of Darkness._ He sensed something cold and painful waiting for him in the empty room, the same way he’d sensed last night something warm and wonderful waiting at the end of an album that had been treasured and then given away and then bought in a collection of other albums for a handful of cash. He thumbed through the book, and found the page he was looking for. He wrote something on a piece of paper on the desk, some loose notebook paper with reminders and notes on them, and tucked it into the book before closing it.

Dean was in the kitchen, fully dressed. He was sitting at the dining table. He was reading a magazine. He nodded when Cas came in but didn’t look up.

“Hey, Cas. There’s coffee if you want some.”

Dean pretended to be very interested in the magazine, and Cas took the opportunity to stare at him and see if there was some way to salvage this. He wouldn’t fall in love with a man this infuriating and predictable, right? He felt some mild satisfaction at knowing Dean was trying not to squirm under his glare. He wanted Dean to know that Cas knew what this was. He imagined taking the magazine and lighting it on the stove, taking Dean’s mug and snapping the handle off neatly on the kitchen counter, or saying something like, “I thought you were better than this” or “You never change.”

Instead he let the anger in him run narrow and light like smoke winding upwards, and he said, “I’m in love with you. If that means anything.”

And he left.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cas as soon as he woke up alone like 'oh goddamn it' like i'm sorry dude i know


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86sb1AFl8Rs

_Well, my time went so quickly,_

_I went lickety-splitly out to my ol' fifty-five._

_As I pulled away slowly, feeling so holy,_

_God knows I was feeling alive._

_-_

Dean managed to make it to the couch in the sitting room, (the more clinical one, not the one from last night, not with a hot iron poker at his back, no thank you) and he collapsed onto it and wondered, not for the first time, what on God’s green and rapidly warming earth was wrong with him. Sure. It was a planet full of grime and pollution and murder and war and it was full of hateful people who never got what was coming to them and a lot of people doing their best who got garrotted and shot down and burned alive and skeletons and ghosts and all kinds of knives and guns. There was a hell and a bunch of dicks in heaven. And they always said that stuff was part of God’s plan. Okay. Sure. But was this? Was it really so necessary to some great house of cards that he be such a dumb son of a bitch?

Charlie, _sorry, my phone was dead. And congrats!_

He put the phone down. Sam was gonna be pissed. That was an easier problem to focus on than the burning ball of fire that was Cas. And _that_ was easier to focus on than how happy Cas had looked asleep that morning, and how empty he’d looked in the kitchen. He called Sam.

“Dean?”

“I’m not actually dying, Sam. So keep that in mind. But I am dying.”

“... Okay. Are you at a hospital?”

“No. I panicked and treated Cas like a one-night stand,” he’d treated him worse, to be honest. 

A mean little laugh like a cough, “Course you did.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Where do you want to–”

“Sam,” and he must have sounded miserable enough over the phone, because Sam stopped joking.

“Okay. Let’s take this apart. Why did you freak out?”

“Because I slept with Cas.”

“Was it bad?”

“No, no–” and let it be said there was some mercy in big brothers, because he realized that maybe Sam would not want to hear exactly how not-bad it was, “It was really good. I think I’m in love with him.”

“Wow. And you still did that. There really is something wrong with you.”

“We established that, Maury, we gotta fix it before this next commercial break though.”

“I’m guessing you’re just scared of what happens if things work. Because you’re afraid if things work out then that’s just more time waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’re afraid Cas doesn’t want you, he wants the version of you that you try to win everybody else over with, and once he spends more time with you he’ll be disappointed but too loyal to leave. You’re afraid of ending up like mom and dad. You’re afraid if you don’t push away Cas now that you’ll hurt him in some other worse way down the line, and that it’s selfish of you to keep him around until then.”

Dean held the phone in horror against his head for what felt like a minute, “I always tell you how smart you are, right?”

“Dean, I’m honestly just listing off the most basic 101 psych shit I can think of. It turns out there are six billion people on this planet and relationship problems did not start or end with you.”

“That’s not how it feels on the inside of this problem, Sam.”

“Well. Call him. Apologize. Throw yourself at his feet. If someone did that to you, what would you want them to do?”

“I _get_ why someone would do that to me.”

“Holy shit, Dean, one thing at a time. I really wish you would see a therapist.”

“But I’d miss our little talks. Hey, how’s Eileen?”

“She’s good. She sleeps in really late.”

“Oh no, you’re doomed, you’ll never work out, how will you two ever compromise.”

“Very funny. Listen. You and Cas have gotten into fights about some pretty bad shit. Instead of waiting for one of you to die, try to fix this by the end of the day. Just call him. Admit what you did. Admit you’re scared.”

“I’ve never hurt him like this, Sam. He said he’s in love with me.”

“What?” Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, “He told you he’s in love with you and you gave him the cold shoulder?”

“He told me _after_ I gave him the cold shoulder.”

“Jesus Christ. That’s Cas for you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay. Uh. Take a shower. Eat something. Don’t drink thirty cups of coffee. Text him a thought out, honest apology and explain why you did that. Don’t just say _boohoo I’m such an emotionally repressed cowboy_ over and over again, he already knows.”

“Great, good. And then everything’s fine.”

“No. And then you did the best you could, and you apologized to a friend you hurt, and you give him space.”

“Oh, that blows, Sam.”

“Yeah, well, you dug this fucking bed. Lay in it,” and he hung up.

-

_Cas. I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry. I freaked out. I’m so afraid I’m gonna mess this up that I thought I’d just get it over with. And I know you hate that I made a big sledgehammer decision like that without asking you first. I thought I was hurting you now to avoid hurting you later. But I’m also just hiding the other truth because I’m also trying to hurt myself now instead of getting hurt later. And it does hurt. This isn't nothing to me. And it’s okay if my dumbass failure to process things like a healthy human being puts some trouble on my plate, but I don’t want it to hurt you. I’m sending you this because I want you to do whatever you need to to feel better. Yell at me, ignore me, talk shit about me with your friends, complain to Sam about me, destroy my car, whatever you want to do, do it._

He sent it and then read it five times, "Fuck. This doesn't make any sense."

_-_

Cas didn’t text back. The day passed. Sam wouldn’t be home for another week. Dean got on his knees by his bedside and folded his hands into a fist rather than a steeple and leaned his forehead hard against it. He didn’t understand praying but he understood why this was the natural pose to fall into when you didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t pray to God but he’d prayed to Cas a lot. He still did it sometimes, even when Cas was human, even when Cas was a few doors down. He did it aloud now.

“Cas. I know you can’t hear me,” as traditional now as a _O Father Who Art In Heaven,_ “But I’m really scared. Just give me a sign, anything. I want to say that I’m being selfless right now and I just want you to be happy, but Cas, I don’t know, man. I’m really scared that was it and I blew it. I can’t lose you to something this dumb. I know I said you can ignore me if you want but I hope you don’t. I know this is as selfish as it gets but I hope you still love me. Because I don’t think there’s anybody else out there for me. I think it’s only you or nothing. I’m here. I’m still here.”

He sobbed out a breath. What a mess. What a joke that he thought he’d just ignore Cas this morning and what? What was the ideal outcome? They’d be just friends again and pretend it never happened and he’d be happy with that? It had been ten hours and he was already crying against his sheets like he’d gotten dumped at prom.

His phone lit up.

_Thank you dean. I’m very angry._

He couldn’t help but laugh, throat still raw. There was more typing.

_I will talk to you later. But right now I can’t._

He texted back, _okay. Thanks Cas._

Some more typing, but then nothing.

-

Harold was rubbing Cas’s back while Renee and Darren made tea in the kitchen and pretended making tea was a two-person job. Cas was lying dry-eyed but blank on the couch on his side. Renee's skinny tabby was coincidentally in reach for him to pet it. _The Eagles_ were playing, a kind gesture meant to soothe him, and he wanted to throw a rock at Renee's bluetooth speaker. 

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

“I can’t stand him.”

“I know.”

“I got it, last night. What you were saying. How it’s supposed to feel.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to forgive him. I don’t want to see him again.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I still love him.”

“Yeah. That’s how it goes sometimes.”

“How does anybody live like this?”

“Hm. A lot of vices usually come into play. You said he texted you?”

“He sent me an apology.”

“Does it seem real?”

“Yes. It’s very irritating.”

“Why?”

“Because now I want to go see him.”

“How about you stay here, and we set a date on when you should talk to him again. That way you don’t feel like you’re just giving in. Put him over the coals for a little while.”

“Dean hates coals ever since hell.”

“What?”

“Oh. A barbecue accident. It’s nothing.”

-

Dean picked up the book on his desk. He’d already read it, but it was a good distraction. There was a bookmark or something in it that he didn’t remember. He opened it to the page and a piece of folded paper fell out.

It said _eggs beer garlic_ on it in his own handwriting. Before he unfolded it, he noticed something underlined on the page in pen.

_A profound love between two people involves, after all, the power and chance of doing profound hurt._

He unfolded the note. In Cas’s prim but odd script was written, _If you love me and don’t want to hurt me, just love me. That hurts the least._

-

Sam came home before Cas texted him again. Dean had done a passing job of seeming like he was getting by, and Sam let this charade go on for four hours while Dean asked him about his trip before he leaned back in his chair.

“Cas?”

“AWOL. I texted him an apology. He said thank you, that he’s pissed, he’ll get back to me.”

“When was this?”

“That same day I called you.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. I KNOW.”

“I’m not gonna open one of these rooms and find like a weird papier maché altar or photos pinned to the walls that you’ve been siphoning all your stress into, am I?”

“One way to find out.”

“You did the best thing you can do. After doing the _worst_ thing you can do. It sucks, but you just have to wait.”

“What if he never talks to me again? What if that’s the last I ever hear of him?”

“Then that’s that. But I don’t think Cas would say he’d get back to you unless he meant it.”

“What if he means the angel-time version of ‘later’ and he texts me on my deathbed?”

“If you’re on your deathbed I think Cas would be there in person.”

“Romantic, but I’m kind of freaking out here.”

Sam shrugged, “Then freak out. That’s the price for being a douchebag. Maybe next time you’ll think twice.”

-

_Dean. I’m fine, but broke my arm. Fell off a ladder. At hospital with Darren. Getting cast then going home. Wanted to tell you. No more secrets. Didn’t want you to worry._

_Glad it’s not serious. Thank you for letting me know_

He typed out _I love you_ over and over again and deleted it every time before remembering Cas could see him typing.

-

Dean let his car keys land on the console table as he walked in and headed straight to the closet closest to the garage, “Hey, Sam, I forgot whether or not we needed more batteries, I’ll be right out. You think if I send Cas some flowers for his arm it would be too needy? I know you said to give him space– Fuck, this closet is a mess– but as you know I’m losing my mind and am in love with my best friend who hates my guts. And I can’t even blame him. Blah blah, I bet you’re trying to study some shit about werewolves or something right now. Do you need mouthwash? I feel like they sell mouthwash at the hardware store. I’m getting nails. I feel like I’m gonna end up building a three story, five bedroom, haunted-ass house trying to distract myself from Cas right now, man. Those peach trees are getting big, I want to repot them. Sam? Hello? Sam?”

He walked into the kitchen. Cas was sitting at the table. His cast was a bright blue just shy of turquoise. His eyes were wide and his voice sounded normal.

“Sam’s in the bathroom.”

“Cool.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.”

He stood there, holding a box of drill bits and a broken 18 volt. 

“I should let you–”

“I came over to help Sam with something. He said you would be out today.”

“Yeah. I was gonna go for a drive. Run some errands. Look at some trees.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It does. Hey, I don’t want to bother you, I should go–”

“Dean.”

Dean turned around in the doorway, “Yeah?”

He kept looking at the cast. There was some signatures and drawings on it. An image of him drawing something ridiculous while Cas waited with grudging and affectionate patience flashed through his head. In reality, Cas was staring at him like he was a stranger who’d just walked into the wrong house.

“I know I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know– I’m still figuring out what I want to say to you.”

“Fair enough. Totally. No problem. I gotta go. Say hi to Sam for me,” _and kill him for me for not warning me about this._

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do y'all know about... crying listening to tom waits
> 
> also i don't know the layout of the bunker. i know they have a dungeon and like, a torture chamber or something but there's neither of those in this fic bc (sam voice) the repeated portrayal of torture as a necessary evil in fiction when multiple studies prove it doesn't work is intentional propaganda and part of a cultural mindset of military countries like the US to justify their use of torture as a tool to incite fear and enact punishment on 'bad guys'. and obviously abolish prisons and invest in communities duh
> 
> dean you are not immune to mortifying romcom moments


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tE6WABOMvUo

_What are you changin'?_

_Who do you think you're changin'?_

_You can't change things, we're all stuck in our ways._

_It's like tryin' to clean the ocean._

_What, do you think you can drain it?_

_Well, it was poison and dry long before you came._

_-_

Cas went to work. Cas did the dishes, went to the car wash, summoned a spotty day of rain by going to the car wash, bought a book of crossword puzzles because he didn’t like doing it on his phone or the laptop Sam had found the money to get him a long time ago (“Work expense. I already downloaded Solitaire on it.”) and could sometimes be found staring at the calendar on the wall over the stove staring at a date he’d circled in red.

“Hey, Cas. You got a postcard,” Renee said from the vicinity of the front door.

“Oh.”

“It’s uh. It’s from Dean.”

“Oh.”

He accepted it from her, and she watched him carefully, but walked away when it was clear he wasn’t going to look at it in front of her. There was a sense of déjà vu staring at the scribbled out writing at the top.

_I bought this years ago in Chicago thinking I’d send it to you and you’d get a kick out of it. It just reminded me of you. I started writing and then remembered you didn’t exactly have a PO box. So I kept it, and then you died. And then eventually I gave it to you when you moved in. I don’t know what it’s worth, but I love you. I’m still learning how to let myself show it, but I really do. And if I ever act like an asshole again you can show this to me as proof and I’ll pull my head out of my ass. It’s just you, Cas. You’re it for me._

Cas flipped the card over. There was the photo of the cathedral. 

-

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Hey, Dean. What are you calling about this time?”

“I’ll get right to the point. Sammy wants to move out.”

“And you want me to convince him to stay or some nonsense?”

“No, I want you to gather up the South Dakota gang if you can and show up here for a little party. Me and Eileen want to do something.”

“Why, that almost sounds healthy.”

“Yeah, yeah, turns out I’m maturing into a beautiful young rose.”

“Old briar, more like it.”

“Not sure what that makes you, old man.”

“Can it. But yeah. When’s the date?”

-

It was the day before Sam was heading out. Eileen had already gone to bed. She and Dean had been practicing insults in ASL after dinner while Sam heartily pretended to ignore them while labeling boxes, even as they giggled over inane nothings like _You have toenails like a goat. Your NPR subscription is paid with a stolen credit card. Dean, I made a tablecloth out of all your clothes but the church bake sale said it was too ugly._

He and Sam were sitting in the kitchen, feet propped up on the table.

“You want me to change the music?”

“No, this is nice. She’s kind of twangy, I like it.”

“Jenny Lewis."

"Sure."

"You gonna be okay?”

“Well. Maybe.”

“You gonna be okay seeing Cas tomorrow?”

“I don’t– Why would I be seeing Cas tomorrow?”

“He’s gonna be at the party,” Sam interrupted him, “Don’t play dumb. I opened a closet and a bunch of streamers fell on me. You baked a cake that says _GET OUT, SAM_ and hid it in the panic room fridge.”

“Why were you in the panic room?”

“I don’t know, in case I forgot something in there.”

“I don’t know about Cas. That’s my problem, though, Sammy. You just worry about how you’re gonna lift all those boxes tomorrow.”

“Well, my big brother is gonna help. He can be kind of a dick and he’ll act like he won’t at first and he’ll probably hurt himself, but. He’s always the one trying to take care of me. He basically raised me.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a real doormat.”

“Love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Sam.”

-

The party was fun. At one point Cas smiled at him from across the room, but otherwise, they didn’t speak.

He waved goodbye to the moving truck the next morning. Sam cried. He cried. He shooed away any of the folks staying over who tried to help him clean up or cook and told them to just relax, they already drove all the way here, don’t worry about it. This is my house, you’re a guest. Sit down. Go take a run, get out of my kitchen. He talked to Rufus’s daughter Margaret (“Please call me Maggie.”) and they conferred about what it was like to come back alive and how wonderfully surprising the desperation to live was when you were clawing graveyard dirt out of your face. Rufus and Bobby sat close on the couch in the next room over and drank slowly in silence. The rest of Jody’s girls all sulked and moped until someone drove them to town. 

Cas picked up Claire to have her meet his friends in town and spend the day together, and Dean had to laugh with the washer and dryer at imagining _that_ conversation. Here’s my niece, the daughter of my twin brother who died or something or whatever. She’s very cool, she likes art, etc.

He wasn’t so stressed out anymore. He thought the feeling would get worse the longer they didn’t talk, but he just felt a kind of peace of mind. He didn’t feel like he’d fucked everything up irrevocably. He actually felt kind of hopeful. Faith sure was a funny thing.

-

_Can we meet tomorrow?_

_Sure, of course_

He put the phone down to stand up and walk around the room for a few minutes before he sat back down.

_Where do you want to meet?_

_Can I drive to the bunker and we can go on a walk? There’s something I want to see._

_Yeah. Sounds nice_

-

“You keep looking at my cast.”

“Yeah. How much longer you need that on?”

“A few more days.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes, of course it did.”

Dean tried to look at the fields instead, the scattered trees and a copse in the distance around someone's house. There was a huge moon out, rising orange and startling over the horizon, but he kept looking at Cas’s arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

They walked for awhile longer. He started getting curious.

“What did you want to see?”

Cas shrugged, “Just this. The moon and you. It’s easier to see both when there’s not much else around.”

Dean stopped. Cas walked a little further and then turned around, chin up, defiant, waiting. Dean realized that meanwhile he was very visibly trying to take a deep breath.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Cas frowned at the ground. He put a hand on his chin. He squinted up at the darkening sky like he was thinking very hard, and Dean realized he was getting his leg pulled.

“Cas.”

“Hold on a minute, Dean. You gotta give me a minute.”

And then Cas’s face relaxed and he smiled, and sighed like he was very tired, and said, “Yes, you can kiss me.”

Dean leaned over the cast and the broken arm and Cas bent forward to meet him. When he turned his head to kiss the corner of Cas’s mouth, Cas beat him to it and turned his head as well. 

“Hey, uh, Cas,” he pulled back, “If this doesn’t work out, if I– I fuck this up, just leave. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine, but don’t stick it out just for me if this goes south. I don’t want you to be in a relationship with me just because you think you have to be. I’ll be okay. You don’t have to stay for me. You can leave whenever you want. You can– you can get out when you need to. If you find something better.”

Cas looked at him with narrowed eyes, and it felt like he was being scrutinized years ago by some monster in a barn all over again.

“After all this time. You still don’t think you deserve it.”

“What?”

Cas reached out and started fixing Dean’s collar, “To be saved.”

Dean huddled into his coat even as Cas pulled him closer, conscious of bumping the cast the entire time, “That’s one hell of a pick up line, Cas. You say that to every guy?”

The intense stare disappeared, and Cas just smiled warmly, “Only the ones I really like.”

They kissed again. Dean pulled away but reached for Cas’s hand. They swung their hands between them like kids.

“You could have just done that instead of letting me say all that shit.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Saved by what? Your dick?”

“Hm. Maybe I _don’t_ like you.”

“Hey, hold on now. I bet I can change your mind.”

“I’d be very interested in that.”

-

After all the theatrics and melodramatics and sentimentality, Sam came back a few days later because he’d forgotten his cell phone charger. Cas waved from the kitchen while Dean followed Sam around the bunker.

“Likely story.”

“Whatever.”

They went to the hospital, they got back from the hospital. Cas went in the bathroom to try and clean his arm off. It had a weird smell to it. Dean stopped bothering Sam to lean both his elbows on the sink and watch him.

“That is disgusting. Didn’t you use that little toothbrush thing to clean under there?”

“They said not to worry about it.”

“Now your arm’s green. American healthcare system for you.”

“Dean,” Cas did not look away from rubbing seriously at his elbow with a washcloth, “You are not helping.”

“What, my winning smile isn’t doing anything for you?”

“Why won’t this come off?”

“It’s like you got a mold tattoo.”

“Dean.”

“Its okay, babe. I like a guy with tattoos.”

“You are a troublesome flirt.”

“Oh, you know I love when you talk like a British governess, Cas.”

Cas put down the washcloth and stared at him. Dean grinned innocently.

“Please help me with this.”

“Ew, no,” but he was already flipping the toilet seat down and sitting on it, holding open his arms for Cas to sit in his lap, and grabbing the washcloth.

Sam passed by the doorway, and passed by it again to look at them, “You two are freaks.”

“No, Sam. This is what all the couples are doing now. Power-scrubbing fungus off each other. Jesus, Cas, what is this, car paint?”

Sam left. Cas stared down at Dean in adoration. Dean looked up at him, his eyes widened, and then he looked back down. 

“Maybe Sam’s right. We are weird.”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I know,” voice too rough, “I love you too, Cas.”

“We should have sex after this.”

Sam, from anther room, “Guys! I’m still in earshot!”

Dean barked towards the doorway, “Go home, Sam!”

He turned back to Cas and kissed the non-cave-creature, non-moldy part of his arm before going back to cleaning, “But yeah, let's have sex.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sam to cas: i'm very happy for you two  
> sam to dean: you're both menaces to society
> 
> this fic made me realize i care about these brothers very much and then forced me to write like 10k of them just calling each other dipshits


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you gotta wait till the end for this one

Dean wrote in his journal while Cas was in the motel shower.

_Cas is taking me to the beach. He was so concerned the entire time driving here about how statistically improbable it is that we've never had to investigate something at the beach. "Lots of terrible things happen at the beach." Says the guy who's driving me hours just to see one. He really knows how to talk a guy up. I'm really happy._

-

“Not that I don’t love this, but why did you wake me up at 4 am to see the beach for the first time? It’s a little too dark to see anything.”

“Some people like the ocean at night.”

“Yeah, yeah. It is nice. It’s cold though. Nobody ever talks about how cold sand is.”

“Here,” Cas pulled his coat out to try and wrap it around Dean’s shoulder, “Get closer.”

“Your coat is nowhere near big enough for both of us. What, you’re not gonna just give it to me?”

“No. It’s my coat. I told you to bring a warm jacket. I don’t control the weather anymore, Dean.”

“You used to control the weather?”

“No, I’m joking. Oh, wait–”

The dark shadow of Cas next to him pointed at the horizon. There had been hardly any moon the night before, but there was some kind of light coming over the water. The sun was rising. Cas smiled.

“The colors are a little off due to pollution. But this is what it was like when everything started.”

“Oh.”

Dean leaned into his shoulder. Cas inched off more and more of his coat to drape over Dean’s back, and watched Dean watch the ocean be invented all over again by the morning. 

“I’m glad I met you.”

Dean murmured against his shoulder, “Hm. Why.”

“I don’t think I loved Earth until you yelled at me about it so much.”

The sun rose pretty quickly. The light went from cool pinks to a dry and light blue. Cas leaned in close to his ear and whispered something that went unheard by anyone else in the world. Dean laughed and shoved him before settling back at his side.

-

_There's a rainbow over my shoulder,_

_When you came, my cup runneth over._

_You gave me your heavenly love,_

_And if one night you hear crying from above–_

_It's cause heaven must be missing an angel,_

_Missing one angel, child, cause you're here with me right now._

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UCbUXo9ZVE
> 
> who else loves the end of charlie's angels (2000)
> 
> cas drove the impala to the beach and dean slept most of the way like a baby. i had to write this fic over the last three days like i was exorcising it from my brain. eat your heart out, meg ryan.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my lawyer called me and said my dearest clown you wrote 20k words and none of it was pillow talk. what are you doing.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKpqEV_q8jE

_The Son of Man had me in his clutches–_

_The sons of men pulled me to the touch and I loved it._

Leg thrown over a leg, pressing his forehead against a wall; no, it was someone’s back. It was Cas’s shoulderblade, somehow unclothed and bared to him in a bed they shared. The dream he’d had about dying, about Cas dying, about Sam dying, about the world lighting up easy like the tip of a match, spun and retreated to a heat in the crown of his head and a fast heartbeat. He let his hand drift under Cas’s arm and over his chest, palm cupping a heartbeat. His thoughts were so filled with the vivid images of the nightmare and the sense of touch between their two bodies that the last thing he remembered as he awoke fully was that the room was pitch black. He could hear the distant drumming of rain outside.

Some internal clock told Dean an alarm would go off soon to tell Cas to wake up for work. He coiled around Cas and waited for the alarm like an enemy. 

Cas beat him to it, his voice surprisingly alert and exasperated in the dark, “Dean. What are you awake for?”

He’d take a shameless headstart where he could get one, “Don’t go to work today. Call in sick.”

He could feel Cas try to turn in his arms, likely to give Dean the sad blue eyes and begin peeling himself away and kissing Dean’s forehead in assurance before he would get up and start changing; Dean held tighter. Cas stopped moving as soon as he felt Dean’s arms keep him in place, and Dean could tell even from the back of his head that Cas was thinking it over.

Finally: “I’ll see if I can get someone to fill in for me. It shouldn’t be too busy today anyways.”

A brief moment of victory before Cas began to pull away again, “Hey, hey, where you going, handsome?”

“I’m not going to text people while I’m in bed with you.”

“Why not? You do a lot of other things in bed with me.”

Cas sighed and peeled Dean’s loosened arms off him as he got up, now that Dean was smug enough to let go. Cas turned on the lamp and turned around, sitting on the edge of the bed, to scowl at him.

“You’re just going to be asleep again when I come back.”

“Well, you better hurry then, huh?”

-

Dean was asleep when he came back ten minutes later, despite the lamp being left on. His arm was thrown over Cas’s side of the bed. When Cas sat down on the edge to look at him, he murmured something and his hand flexed over the empty space. Cas stared at him with a kind of polite, frozen longing usually reserved for what we can’t have until Dean opened his eyes and squinted.

“What do you look so sad for? They say no?”

Without changing his expression, Cas held back a sigh and said, “No. I can stay. I’m just very happy.”

Dean squinted harder before opening his arms again, “Get back over here.”

Cas crawled into the space made for him. The rain went on and on far away but close enough to hear under the sounds of breathing and pleading and the moving of bodies and sheets against each other.

-

After cleaning up, some water and coffee and food from the kitchen, they wound up back in bed. Dean felt a creaking clock somewhere that he was trying to avoid thinking about as it counted down the end of the day, the waning hours where lying around for so long would feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic instead of romantic and indulgent. 

For now, Cas’s head was tucked into his neck as he stroked his back, idly kissing his neck and jaw with aimless timing. Every once and awhile Dean would scratch instead of stroke and Cas would shiver a little and then exhale against him, but it had already been a busy morning. They were floating in a kind of dreamy cruise control, a lust going at the parking-lot-appropriate speed of five miles per hour. Cas finally pulled back and Dean stopped staring at the wall.

“Why did you want me to stay today?”

“I just didn’t want you to go.”

“But why today?”

Something about the rain, about the nightmares that were more memory than imagination, and Dean fought a shrug, “Had a bad dream.”

Cas smoothed Dean’s eyebrow with his thumb with a seriousness that made Dean grin in contrast, and nodded and pursed his lips, “I have a shift tomorrow.”

“I know. I know you like working, I just wanted you today.”

“You don’t want me tomorrow?”

“Dick. You know what I mean.”

Cas smiled, pleased with himself, and crowded back against Dean’s chest. Dean felt him inhale and the breath in his body as it met his own. He wrapped his arms around Cas’s back in a lazy recreation of their shape from earlier when he’d been begging and sweating with his elbows over Cas’s neck and his knees in the air. He did not think about the clock ticking somewhere in an unseen room. 

“Do you like it here?”

Cas stayed tucked against his shoulder, “In bed? It’s nice. We should get up at some point though.”

“No, I mean, do you like the bunker?”

“Oh. It’s fine. Why?”

Dean leaned his chin against the temple of Cas’s head, “I was just thinking it would be nicer to stay in bed all day when it rains if we had some windows.”

“I don’t know if you can put windows in a building like this.”

“I know. I was thinking maybe we should move or, I don’t know, maybe try to build a little house on the property. Like a real house.”

Cas pulled himself up so their eyes were level with each other. Dean waited for a response as Cas scrutinized him as if this was all some kind of riddle. It wasn’t, not really.

“Do you still want to live in Lebanon?”

Dean didn’t expect that, “What do you mean?”

“I mean if you want to live somewhere else we should. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Someone’s gotta hold fort here.”

“It shouldn’t have to be you,” and there was the little stubborn coal of indignation lighting up under Cas’s voice.

“I can stay here a few more years. But yeah, maybe some younger hunters would prefer to be here. They wouldn’t have to pay rent or motel-hop, at the very least. We could train ‘em, get ‘em ready.”

“And then we could go anywhere.”

“Let’s not get too excited. We can go anywhere you don’t need a plane for or a passport or a job with a college degree to make rent. Which ain't far. You might not like just anywhere.”

“We could always come back,” and then Cas frowned, “I miss my wings.”

Dean’s hands froze where they were stroking between his shoulder blades, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault. But then we really could go anywhere,” Cas ran a thumb over Dean’s jaw, “And I–”

Cas cut himself off, looking a little forlorn and embarrassed. Dean leaned his cheek into his hand.

“What?”

“I liked how they looked.”

“I wish I could have seen them.”

Cas looked off nostalgically into some space of the corner of the room, “They _were_ magnificent. And I miss being able to heal.”

Dean ignored the wave of depressing sympathy running through him like a tide and managed a smirk, “Why, you see something that needs fixing?”

“No,” completely sincere in response to Dean’s glibness, as usual, as wanted, and Cas kissed him as he alternated firmly between reassurances of _no, no, no._

The lazy inertia of before started tipping more in favor of sex, until Cas pulled away thoughtfully and said, “I would miss it here though.”

“Miss what?” half a laugh and half out of breath.

Cas looked at him like it was obvious, “It was the first place we lived together. It was the first place we kissed, and made love, and–”

Dean groaned and pushed his head back into pillow, half of him wanting to tease the phrasing and half of him too busy burning up and bashful about it to say anything at all. Cas kissed the space where his ear met his cheek, since Dean being dramatic at least presented him the opportunity.

“I would like a house with windows though. Maybe still a basement, depending on where we live. Underground housing is becoming more popular, as a way to minimize AC and heating costs.”

“Yeah, read me the statistics from a _Guardian_ article, sweetheart, you know that gets me hot.”

Cas shrugged, straight-faced and suddenly a little prim, “I could.”

Dean propped himself up on an elbow, hoping that after all these years it still looked as inviting as it did when he was some twenty-five year old with a stranger, “Alright, hotshot. Lay it on me. It really might.”

-

The smaller clock in Dean’s head sounded while the larger one continued on in its deep tolling; they both got out of bed and got dressed. It was sprinkling now, and Cas offered him an umbrella before heading up to the garden without a word. Dean followed him and found him toweling off two chairs, the blue umbrella held over the familiar trench coat. Dean held up a finger, went back downstairs, made hot toddies, and came back up with them steaming and clumsily balanced between the umbrella.

They sat in silence. Cas was smiling, more easily than he ever did in bed or at times when he assured Dean he was at his happiest, as if the plants were a benign kind of joy instead of one that relentlessly consumed the soul. His eyes crinkled. Dean stared at him with that latter kind of joy, one that was almost grief in its reminders. He told himself to cool it and admired the shuddering of the flowers and leaves under the light rain.

“Is there anything you want, Cas?”

Cas did not reply immediately, and at first he thought that he should clarify he meant in general, and not just something from the kitchen, until Cas said very simply, “No. I do like having a job and coworkers. I like my friends here. Maybe it would be nice to stay in Kansas.”

“Okay. I just don’t want you to feel like I’m the only one who gets to uproot and change our lives.”

“Dean, you want windows. It’s not like you’re asking for the moon.”

“Hey, if you’re offering–”

Cas gave him a weary look, with just the tilt of a smile, before looking away. Dean watched as a line of worry creeped into his face.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I–” Cas looked genuinely stressed now, and scratched his eyebrow (a tic that Dean had to think came from him or Sam), “I was just thinking of something.”

“You want to get married?” Dean’s eyes were already widening before he finished the sentence; of course he’d accidentally propose as a filler in a conversation. 

Cas just shook his head though, “No. Well, maybe for tax reasons, but we’re both technically legally dead anyways so I don’t think that matters,” he turned, eyes apologetic and huge, “I love you, of course. But I just don’t think marriage would mean anything more to me than what we already have.”

Dean swallowed and nodded as if that wasn’t two big hitters in one sentence, “Alright. Sure.”

Cas tilted his head back towards a pot of wild roses and absently fumbled with his fingers, “Exchanging rings might be nice. I’d like to give you something, and have something of yours.”

“I’d like that.”

Cas smiled down at his hands, and just as Dean was starting to lean back in his chair, said, “And I think I’d like a child.”

Dean spilled most of what was left of his tea on his thigh, and stared at the dark mark of Irish Breakfast rather than look up, “Oh?”

“I know that’s a big decision. And I– again, we’re both dead, so it’s not like we could make it through the adoption process. Maybe with some fake paperwork, but– I don’t know. Even if it’s not possible, I guess– I just wanted to say it aloud. It’s something I want. I don’t need it, but,” and Dean looked up in time to see a small, tight shrug.

“And you… You want this kid… With me?”

Wearily, “Yes, Dean.”

“Why?”

Cas turned his head, “Because I love you. And you raised Sam. I think you could be a really wonderful father. I know you might feel differently but I think this time would be a lot easier, now that you’re older and there’s no curse or deal with a demon.”

Dean had to give him that one as he stared at the wet shine of the roof floor. The big clock in the back of his mind had been replaced with a tornado ripping through grass. He swallowed again.

“I, uh.”

“I know this could be complicated for you. It’s not something that has to happen.”

“I,” and he thought maybe in the maelstrom of wind and wreckage he could see the peace somewhere through all of it, of this vague idea that seemed like he’d have to put his hand through fire to reach, “I’m not against it. Shit. I really will have to go to therapy for this one.”

“Therapy?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to mess up our kid. I gotta get all my bullshit sorted out before we get one.”

Cas tilted his head, birdlike and strange and never quite undone over the years, and then beamed as he realized Dean was serious, “Alright.”

Cas’s apparent pleasure was enough to keep Dean gripping the armrest of his chair with white knuckles instead of launching the thousand reasons why he should never have a kid or be responsible for loving anything, and then he breathed out and watched the raindrops hit his shoes instead. Cas was still lost in some daydream.

“If I was still an angel… You know, angels and humans weren’t allowed to have children together,” and his voice snagged on some thorn of a memory Dean didn’t know yet, “It’s not like we’ll have one anyways. But if we ever found a half-angel, half-human child who needed someone to love them… I think we’d be good people to raise it.”

“Yeah, but how likely is that?”

“Not likely,” but Cas still looked longingly at the parting rainclouds as if they might pull open and hand him one. 

Very softly, realizing that this was no fleeting or sudden idea, Dean said, “You really want to be a dad, huh?”

“I love loving you. And being loved by you. I want us to share that,” and Cas turned away from the sky and offered him a reassuring smile, “But this is enough.”

“Maybe for today,” Dean sipped what was left of the tea, pretending it wasn’t cold, “But I’m gonna be thinking about those windows and a kid now. You let the cat out of the bag. Hey. Wait. Cas, you want a cat?”

“Can we?”

“Hell yeah, let’s get a cat. We could do that as soon as tomorrow.”

-

Sam came by in the afternoon, his car blasting some music that was just erratic enough to not quite be an oldie, and laughed and wrapped Cas in a hug when Cas hurried up to offer him an umbrella for the short walk from the dirt road to the bunker door. Dean huddled under his own.

"Hey, hey, that's enough. You don't need to be hugging my man that long."

Sam flipped him off and kept an arm over Cas's shoulder, ducking almost in half to keep under the umbrella. Dean gave Cas a tired expression.

"Is this guy bothering you?"

With a rare shit-eating grin; "What, like you don't?"

Dean's mouth sincerely fell open before he could hide it. Sam looked thrilled. Cas was clearly trying not to look too smug and was failing, but handed Sam the umbrella before peeling away to kiss Dean lightly in apology. Dean clenched his teeth together to try and still look offended instead of breaking instantly.

"You can't talk to me like that in front of Chess, you know."

Cas cozied up to him and kissed him again on the cheek before delivering an underhanded blow reserved only for the fiercest of arguments, "Don't tell me what to do, _sweetheart_."

Sam, "Who the hell is Chess?"

Dean gave up and melted into Cas's side, "Our kid."

"Your _what?_ "

"Yeah, he's about 15 pounds and they say he already knows how to piss in a box. Now come inside out of the rain. Tell us about the drive."

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to include jack, everyone's Son, but i have no idea how the show got from point A to point B on that. so lets just assume, in the non-existent future of this fic, that they do end up with jack, bc cas's ultimate and final form really just is a dad


End file.
